


A Most Delicious Murder

by halfacookie



Category: Fallen London | Echo Bazaar, Haikyuu!!
Genre: I haven't put up fic in literal years don't kill me, Multi, a very bad depiction of victorian london if you ask me, a very bad idea in general if you ask me, are you asking me, eternally googling "does x exist in the victorian era"
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 20:21:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6486133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfacookie/pseuds/halfacookie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Welcome to London. A London with good wine, and secrets aplenty. A London with as little shortage of opportunity as there is of murder. A London where a certain group of people called Karasuno gain certain new members, and complimentary shortcuts up the city's spiraling spires of power. </p><p>A London..... that also happens to be a mile underground. </p><p>Welcome to Fallen London, Delicious Friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I regret this prologue so much. This prologue is full of lies!!!! It's not even Karasuno-centric, and those of you drawn here by Seijoh will then be forced to sit through multiple chapters of not IwaOi, Seijoh doesn't come in until much later....... 
> 
> On a larger scale, I regret this entire fic too. I haven't written a multi-chaptered fic in years, you heard it, years, and I am notorious for not being able to sustain my attention on projects for too long..... ...... this may, eventually, never be finished. You may regret this like I regret this!! Get out now if you're not ready for that risk.
> 
>  
> 
> Okay, disclaimers aside, thank you toffeepotatoes for being in FL Hell with me!! Shoutout to Sol for inspiration for the title.

London hasn’t had real snow ever since it Fell from the surface, into this cesspit they call the Neath; it’s not _supposed_ to have snow now, it’s _not a good thing_ that whitish sludge falls like it’s some cheap imitation of the winter. He wears his thick work-boots out under his best coat even though it looks mismatched, it’s to keep most of the shit out, and when groups of dumb orphans (or crazy adults) are out on the twisting streets having sludgefights with the stuff he steers clear.

Nowadays he meets Tooru at Dante’s Grill instead, where the clientele is more select; they used to catch up at Veilgarden, but now Tooru’s a rising star in the Palace and Veilgarden is infested with people wanting to curry favour, or weasel out some favours. Of course, Dante’s is more expensive, but the price of privacy is worth it. Dante’s is also more popular with devils popping out from Hell for lunch, but he thinks Tooru will fit right in with the crowd.

(It’s not like either of them _can’t_ afford it.)

Still, the idiot chatters with some devil at the door for at least five minutes before Iwaizumi smacks him on the head and he reluctantly makes his parting excuses.

“I was getting us a free meeeeal, Iwa-chan! I was _almost_ about to make him agree to treating us to another reservation!”

“If you can afford to have a life-sized statue of you made out of jade, you can afford to stop being a cheapskate for one evening.”

Tooru looks up from the menu to pout like the piece of shit he is. “It’s not _about_ the money, meal-stealing is an _art_ and my pride was on the line as an artist!”

“Don’t you mean _con_ -artist?”

“The _best_ con-artist. Also, it’s _scientifically proven_ that food you didn’t pay for yourself always tastes better.”

That gets a laugh out of Iwaizumi. It’s something Tooru manages to do no matter how much he has reason to frown, and as the laugh escapes him Iwaizumi remembers why he appreciates that (as much as he’ll never admit it.) It does feel good laughing, he hasn’t done that in a long time. Long enough that being in the presence of his laughter is valued at four Echoes among his circles (that kind of reputation feels good, too.)

Tooru’s grin relaxes into the smugness of a well-fed cat and Iwaizumi adds, “my crew blacklisted you already, no one’s going to pay you four Echoes. Cheapskatekawa.”

“I keep telling you, they’re awful people. Can’t you find better people to beat up your monsters with? Mattsun or Maki couldn’t recommend you anyone good enough?”

Tooru waves a waiter over. He always orders the devilled kidney, even when Iwaizumi points out the suspiciously foreign texture of the thing when it arrives. Tooru claims it’s probably ‘just how it’s done in the West’, but Iwaizumi claims bullshit.

It’s not that Tooru’s wilfully ignorant, of course. Tooru is never wilfully ignorant. Obviously he just doesn’t care.

“So, what monsters have you been hauling into the Docks lately, Iwa-”

“Are you taking it up again? Trying to play that card game _?_ ”

This rams a wedge into the flow of the conversation. Tooru stops short and stares, a rare moment of speechlessness. There are probably better ways to bring in the topic, but their conversations have a record for going wildly off-track. And Iwaizumi _needs_ to know this now- it’s why he followed Tooru down into the Neath, after all, to make sure the idiot doesn’t go down by his own stupidity. That goddamn game is the most dangerous thing Iwaizumi’s seen down here, and he’s tussled with some pretty nasty shit.

Tooru can tell it’s a serious topic. Tooru messes around most of the time, infuriatingly, but during times like Iwaizumi can trust him to calm down. So he does, leaning over the table to talk in lowered tones.

“We want to beat Ushijima, don’t we? I don’t think anyone can reach him within a lifetime by ordinary means.”

“The stakes for playing is your _soul_ , dumbass-”

“I can win. Trust me, Iwa-chan. You know I’m not someone who goes into things unprepared! Remember when that Hatsu tried to scapegoat us for letting the horses loose, I sure showed _him_ -”

“This is _different_ ! This is nothing like the shit we did as kids!” Before he knows it he’s grabbed Tooru’s hand, tightening his fingers around it like he could press his message into the idiot’s body with enough force. Tooru’s skin is stained with ink, tiny blemishes that are indistinguishable by touch, so unlike the calluses and scars that stain his own. “Okay, I know jack shit about the nutjobs playing the game with you, but I know Ushijima better than you do. We work the same field. You haven’t _seen_ Ushijima’s men like I have, even his _subordinates_ are legends among the bounty-hunters. People try to _off themselves_ if they find out they’re wanted by a Shiratorizawa member, that’s how dangerous those people can be, and you want to trifle with them-”

Tooru starts to smile at him, indulgently, and Iwaizumi thinks of how a single missive from that man could render him inadmissible in all of polite society’s territories. (And yet Tooru wouldn’t survive taking three steps into Wolfstack Docks, not with the polish he’s adopted to weasel his way into the Palace; how easily they could destroy each other if they so wished.)

Iwaizumi cuts off his rant, awkwardly, lamely. “If something fucks up, and we lose you, what’s going to happen to the Seijoh Alliance?”

That indulgent smile falters.

“Or if you win the goddamn card game and you get whatever power you need to topple Ushijima. Even if you take Ushijima’s throne, the others will crash and burn if you try to bring Seijoh into circles that powerful. You’re going to have to adopt the rest of the eagles as your new club instead.”

“You’re too paranoid, Iwa-chan. None of that will happen, why would I put in the effort to start Seijoh if I was going to leave it halfway?” Oh, to think for a second that Tooru forgot the people he had brought together and proclaimed leadership over. It’s easy to make that assumption, too easy looking at that lackadaisical face, but Iwaizumi should’ve known better. He _does,_ but sometimes he just gets insecure because-

“I spent so much time coming up with group colours, and a mascot! And you ingrates even rejected my cute mascot idea, assholes.”

Look at that awful face. Though Tooru’s ego still works in his favour, maybe; Trashykawa Tooru’s ego is arguably too big to forget the people he’s got authority over.

“That was an awful design and everyone agreed it sucked.”

“Excuse you!” Tooru pouts, and wiggles his hand out of Iwaizumi’s grasp. “Anyway. I _am_ bringing Seijoh with me to the top, where we should be, and we’re going to have a fine time. Because when I win that game I’m not claiming the prize for just me anymore, I’m going to claim it for all of us. The prize can be whatever we want, y’know, and I want _all_ of us to be great. Isn’t that what we all want?”

It’s Iwaizumi’s turn to stare.

“Why that face? It was you who reminded me that a strong alliance like Shiratorizawa has to be handled with another _team_ that’s stronger. When I take us to the top we’re all going, you and Mattsun and Maki and the cute juniors.”

Iwaizumi studies that face, that quietly self-confident face with not a trace of doubt as much as he searches. Tooru is in a rare moment of complete seriousness where he stops being shitty and starts inspiring just a bit of awe.

“If you go to Hell without us we’re all coming down to drag you out,” Iwaizumi retorts, though his words have no bite to it.

Tooru just laughs. “Yeah, I’d appreciate that. C’mon, our food’s been here for forever, it’s going to be stone-cold if you don’t shut up soon!”

“Fine.”

In his loneliest moments Iwaizumi had once wondered whether Tooru would have followed _him_ down here if it had been him with the selfish hunger for greatness. Their lives now are farther apart as they make separate names for themselves in separate fields; he’s glad for the reminder that, at least for now, only getting to see each other once in awhile doesn’t change how fast Tooru would be on his tail if he ever decides to fall.

He doesn’t want to fall from this place anytime soon, anyway. The next level down is apparently Hell.

* * *

As they’re leaving Tooru suddenly shouts into the crowd, an exclamation of shock and accusation that sounds vaguely like _you!!_ but could be a lot of other things really. The first thing Iwaizumi notices is a shock of orange hair, like a lamp shining through the flurry of Neath-snow falling; then the dark-haired person next to it looks around and he recognizes Kageyama from the Surface.

There’s a pause before Tooru plunges forward, his usual unnecessarily enthusiastic plunge to greet people he knows. “Tobio-chan!! _Fancy_ seeing you down here!”

It’s not a fancy. They'd met through the community of aspiring Neath-travellers on the Surface. Years ago he had timidly asked if they might guide him down to the Neath when they went, and the liquid gleam of contempt in Tooru’s eyes must surely be resurfacing. Iwaizumi hears it in the slight steel in Tooru’s voice, concealed under layers of his manicured affability.

“Huh? Who’s this?” The orange-haired boy beside Kageyama –both of them were still more boy than adult, honestly – completely misses the tension, misses how Kageyama cringes away from Tooru’s shoulder-pat. “Oi! I’m here too, y’know!!”

(“ _Shut up!_ ”

“ _What?? Is this your senior?? Oh, THIS is the Great King!!!”_ )

The exchange is brief. The two’d come down together, a mere week ago (which explained their awful cheap clothing) and were boarding together to save money. On the way to join Karasuno’s bunch, once they made a name for themselves. Or sooner, the oranged-haired one breaks in, there’s a meeting tonight and they’re going to see if they’ll be let in-

 _Stop telling them everything_ , Kageyama snaps. Tooru, on the other hand, has told the juniors nothing.

The awful fungi-patterned coat _he’s_ wearing should clue them in on what he’s doing now, though, once they learn about Shuttered Palace fashion.

 _Good luck with your plans_ , Tooru tells them cheerily, _have fun being Karasuno’s next King!_

And then Kageyama rushes the other boy away, amidst aggressive challenges from the latter and endless bickering from both. The pavement is mostly empty from the snowstorm; the shock of orange hair catches the eye as it makes its way up the street. Tooru must be scowling.

The two are still bickering when Orange-hair turns around and howls-

“No matter how strong you are, we’re going to get stronger and one day we’ll _beat you_ !! _Dai-o-sama!!!_ ”

And then they’re gone, the lamplight-hair disappearing around a corner.

“They’ll certainly be interesting additions to the Faded Flock.” Tooru says. “Of course, the King’ll probably take care of _that_ alliance for us. What do you think they’ll call him? What do you think about ‘Troublesome King’?”

“I don’t know. He seems to have changed a bit.”

“Even if he has, does it matter? It doesn’t.” Tooru turns, and they start on the last stretch of shared road before they have to part ways. “Tobio-chan wants to play the Game too, did you hear? It’s not that I _want_ to crush him, he just makes it so easy…”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tsukishima accidentally insults Karasuno on their first meeting, and still manages to do better than Hinata and Kageyama put together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I know everyone has their faves and I jump around a ridiculous lot in terms of member coverage (I REGRET SO MANY THINGS ABOUT THIS FIC), I'll say upfront the characters that each chapter focuses on! If I remember to
> 
>  **More major characters in this chapter:** Tsukishima, Yamaguchi, Daichi, Tanaka  
>  **Characters that have some speaking lines:** Hinata, Kageyama, Sugawara, Ukai
> 
> ALSO toffeepotatoes has put up a fic set in the same verse! Seijoh-centric, Kyoutani/Yahaba, do go give it a read [ here!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6494902)

 The _Bird’s Roost,_ a tavern on the fringes of Veilgarden, stands on a quiet street going to Ladybones Road. The location means there’s nothing big and distinctly non-human mounted on the walls, or the squabbling rabble one would find in the shadier districts. What there _is_ is inexpensive furniture with only the occasional dubious stain, grimy-framed paintings of birds behind the counter, and the muffled odour of smoke; faintly pervasive like a background ensemble’s lower-cost replacement. 

The bell over the door  _ clangs  _ when someone steps in or out, but the proprietor never moves to receive the guests. He’s busy contributing to the odd smoke-scent.

Even without the proprietor doing anything it’s clear who the regulars are, though. Specifically, it’s clear who the members of Karasuno’s gang are- they’re the ones who pass him and Tadashi on the way to the counter, then make the entry gesture in full view of the two of them. Tadashi has been haphazardly guessing at members for the past half-hour, whispering conjectures into Tsukishima’s ear, and his guesses are as poor as the attempt to conceal his excitement (i.e. very.)

“What about that guy who just ordered that beer? Over there, he’s going to that table, do you think that’s a Karasuno member?”

“No,” Tsukishima replies curtly, “the crows have all flocked to a back room.” Then he’s up, crossing the few steps needed to take him to the counter, and Tadashi yelps  _ Tsukki!  _ –behind him in nervous confusion as he meets the owner square in the eye.

“I’m looking for the club room,” Tsukishima repeats what he’s overheard from no less than three people, makes a quick sign with his left hand. He feels Tadashi’s presence catch up to him as the proprietor looks him up and down.

“Eh? Haven’t seen you around before, you new?”

“Just direct me to the club room, please.

Proprietor snorts and twitches the cigarette in his mouth. “Mmkay, it’s the second door down on the second floor.” Then he goes back to wiping down a mug and Tsukishima goes forward to the stairs, pausing only so Tadashi can go back and get their drinks.

“Tsukki- that was great, but are we really going to barge in like that? What if they kick us out?"

Tadashi’s footsteps are an irregular staccato peppered around his own as they climb. Tadashi needs to calm down.

“If you change your mind about trying to join, we can just take a look and then leave.”

They pass spies and bohemians and the odd revolutionary, and Tsukishima thinks people really should stop advertising their fraction just by the clothes they wear, do the spies really think they’re hiding themselves well if all of them wear the same drab oversized coats and lint-shedding mufflers? The second door down is closed, not unexpectedly. 

Tadashi shifts closer to him, sensing like a bloodhound when his fingers linger a bit too long on the doorknob, but Tsukishima only huffs as he pushes the door open.

With their reputation, and the raucous shouts of welcome that start as they enter, he almost half-expects to find that the members of Karasuno are all some sort of half-feathered beast. Like the Rubbery men, but with inky black instead of amber that stains where they touch- but they are not, they are a circle of normal-looking humans that stop and stare when they get a good look at who’s come through the door.

Sorry, did he say normal? They are not normal.

They are a mishmash of shapes and colors; there’s a walking display-rack of animal-fang jewelry, and at the other end of the room someone has a dark coat shrugged over an ensemble of silk and mushrooms. Said ensemble contains liberal amounts of both. 

Anyway, they are staring.

“Sorry, wrong room.” Tsukishima says at the same time Yamaguchi starts, “H-hi, we’d like to join-”

There’s a pause and they share a glance; Tadashi’s eyes are wide with apologetic confusion, as if he’d kicked a dog he hadn’t known was there. Then someone who looks like the leader speaks up,  _ you want to join us?,  _ someone heavyset and tanned who might’ve walked out of a Wolfstacks Dock postcard (if those things existed), and Tadashi goes on.

“I’m Yamaguchi Tadashi, and this is Tsukki, we came from the Surface about- eh- a month ago? And uh-”   
  
Tsukishima notices yet another person who's been paying the salaries of (fake) fang jewelry merchants everywhere and has half a mind to conclude that he's seen enough. But Tadashi is discussing with their leader, and Tadashi is so nervously insistent he doesn't have the heart to interrupt.    
  
The desire to join this group isn't even Tadashi's in the first place, though he's practically adopted it as his own now- taken the ambition Tsukishima once put aside and named it his. Named it theirs. Tsukishima doesn't have the heart to point that out either, so he's just standing here placidly hoping that Karasuno'd say  _ no _ and they could go back and find something sensible to do- but Tadashi says  _ please? _ and Karasuno says  _ okay _ , and that's it, that's it?   
  
"You don't have any selection process?" He asks, the question bubbling out like the first spurt of liquid when a welldigger hits water, a snort and sardonic smirk following naturally. "No wonder they call you guys the Faded Flock."   
  
Karasuno takes this as well as an avalanche takes to icepicks.    
  
Tadashi stutters something, probably his name; everything about Tadashi’s face is wide and stunned, the disarrayed aftermath of a sudden storm. But whatever Tadashi says is drowned out by another storm; a messy chorus of palms slamming on furniture, violent footsteps, shouts like the shrieks of an incensed murder scattering into the air. One of the jewelry-racks, the baldie, grabs his shirt-front, and the man's cascade of fang-ornaments rattle like beads from a severed necklace.

 

“ _ What did you say, you little- _ ”

 

(Tsukishima is taller than this guy.)

  
  
" **_BE QUIET!!_ ** " 

 

It takes their leader shouting above all the rest to quiet them down. Truly, they are a flock of crows.   
  
And they aren't faring that well in the Neath where the 'sky' has its boundaries, are they?   
  
The leader starts with an eerie calm."If you're not interested in us, you're free to leave. The door is behind you."   
  
"-Daichi, you're going to let that bastard just walk away-!!"   
  
"I said _ shut it! _ " It's another echoing shout that sways even the hooligan wrestling with his shirt. Tsukishima notices that the mushroom-frock man has traveled the width of the room during the chaos, and is now sitting with hands over his ears and the grimness of someone waiting out a natural disaster. That man isn’t wrong; the leader’s words are calm but it doesn’t take a genius to see that there are deep turbulent waters beneath the surface, that the waters are waiting to pull the unwary down.

"You should do it quickly, we don't extend amnesty indefinitely to outsiders. If your friend is still interested, we'll talk to him alone."    
  
“Tsukki?” Is what Tadashi’s mouth says but his eyes say more, his eyes and creased brows and slack jaws say  _ we’re not in this together after all? I thought we-  _ “Uh- if you don’t want to, I guess-”

“.... I have nothing else to do down here, anyway. It wouldn’t hurt.” 

The flock-like cacophony starts up again, mostly verbal protests this time, with an notable example of Baldie booing right into his face (into his chin, rather). But it’s not the entire flock up in arms this time; some of the appeased crows filter about the group to convince their kin. It takes mushroom-outfit man physically hauling Baldie back to get him away from Tsukishima, and the two bicker for a moment ( _ suga!! you’re taking his side too? - for fuck’s sake calm down, you’re going to get daichi mad agai-) _ before their leader pounds against the table again and everyone quiets.

And Tadashi, Tadashi’s face has relaxed into the happiest grin, crinkling his freckles, showing his teeth. He bounces a little and manages to chirp  _ I knew you’d want to! _ -before the  _ BAM  _ of the table-slam happens and Tadashi whirls back to front-facing in a shock. 

Now’s about a good time for Tsukishima to make a more official statement, not to mention do some appeasing.

“I wouldn’t mind joining,” He raises his voice so the drawl is heard by all in the room. “I agree not to get in your way without provocation, and help out when convenient. Is there a contract involved, or specific terms? How much are the required contributions?”

“O-oh, yeah, could we know about all that first-” Tadashi realizes he’d gotten ahead of himself and sheepishly scratches the back of his neck, his frame deflating into the usual slight hunch. This time the mushroom-coat man answers in their leader’s stead, bursting into their line of vision with a friendly smile.

“Oh, there’s no contract! I know some other groups do it but we’re more informal, you’re free to join and leave as you like if you give notice. Karasuno is primarily a network- we help each other progress. Right, you’re new- so for example, um…. Daichi! Daichi here works at the Wolfstack Docks, he does bounty work, beats things up I guess-  _ what, that’s all you talk about when you mention your work _ \- but if he has to attend a social occasion in Veilgarden, he can ask someone in Karasuno with experience in networking at social occasions, (like me,) to help out...”

And so he goes on, at one point motioning urgently for Daichi to get the list of their terms, his explanations tumbling ahead of him out of his mouth without stopping. It almost seems like he’s afraid of pausing to give them interruption time. It almost seems like, just slightly, the man’s smile has the barest hints of being a little overwhelmed by how things are going. 

When Karasuno’s expositor is finally interrupted, he startles with an amusing yelp and his silvery hair even seems to fluff up. 

Tsukishima couldn’t blame him entirely, perhaps- being interrupted by the innowner slamming the door open is a pretty big shock.

“There’re two kids downstairs yelling about joining you guys. Can you kick their ass or something? They  _ won’t shut up _ , they’re still shouting about it at the windows after I threw them out, it’s awful for business!”

“What? Uh- why didn’t you let them in? Did you let these two in?”

Daichi splutters and rushes to the window. Chairs topple as most of the group follows.

“Eh, those two? Aren’t they already with you? They gave the proper codes- oi, quit adding to the racket!”

Baldie is yelling at the window, up against the glass and hidden from view by the backs behind him. Now that most of Karasuno have moved to a messy mass by the window, the misshapen forms of black coats lying on tabletops and chairs are hideous beacons of attention; it makes Tsukishima think of repulsive creatures to which the word ‘pest’ is used.

“You two, how did you figure out the codes?”

“Tsukki figured it out!” Tadashi chirps as he tiptoes, to get a better view from the back where he is. There are a half-dozen heads nestled close in front of him, all shifting with the shared motive of closer-row seats.

The rest of group is jabbering various permutations of “what the fuck are they doing”, drowning out the muffled noise of what their object of attention is doing, so eventually curiosity forces Tsukishima to join the back of the congregation.

“Some of you were very obvious with giving your passcodes, so I picked them up.”

He’s tall enough that he just needs to crane his neck a bit to get see over the half-dozen heads, but the unobstructed window-space remaining only treats Tsukishima to the scenic sight of falling snow. Suddenly the crowd surges backwards, letting Daichi emerge to stalk out and out of the room in what is unmistakably a predatory prowl.

(“Be careful, Daichi!” “You go beat those punks up good!!” )

As the crows settle again Tsukishima finally gets a glance of the two outside- they’re up in each other’s faces, shouting something that can’t be heard, but from the way they’re making a farce of themselves he can guess at the kind of nonsense that’s coming out of their mouths.

Daichi emerges from the door downstairs, now an imposing shadow in a night-black coat, and there is more shouting. Karasuno’s leader cuts an intimidating figure, with those broad shoulders and sturdy limbs, that cows the two idiots instantly and lets him shove them around like dolls.  _ His  _ shouting is clearly audible, claps of thunder ringing through the buildings all around, and a few crows flinch away from the class at particularly loud bellows.  _ What the fuck are you trying to do, _ Daichi says.  _ You want to join Karasuno and you’re already sullying the name before you’re in? _

“Should someone go calm him down?” A female voice muses. Tsukishima’s only seen one woman so far, elegantly bespectacled in a corner, and the delicate voice certainly matches that face. Baldie and his bad fashion compatriot exult in “Kiyoko-san’s” graciousness, but do not attempt to address the question. 

In the end no one goes down to stop their leader, or even help him wrestle off the two losers who’d rather chase him around desperately than leave.

Daichi has to be stopped by the proprietor, who is clearly unamused at the extra shouting that this has descended into; it’s surprising to see all that fury evaporate from him so fast, when seconds before he was a wrathful god with a hellfire voice.

The troublemakers are eventually hauled in, because they refuse to be sent off. The morning-sun hair of the smaller (small. Just small) man is less vivid against the unflattering kaleidoscope of colors in the room, and the taller one carries the air of a wet cat trying to ignore its owner as obviously as possible. Both of them, in fact, are acting like disgruntled wet cats.

Oh, but isn’t one of those faces familiar?

(“ _ this is your fault!!” “no, this is your fault!!” _ )

It is. Baldie crows,  _ hey, aren’t you that Kageyama Tobio? _ and from the way the taller boy responds to the name, it must be. Ah, the self-centered King of Alleyways. 

Amateurs say that he moves like Death in a fight, that he comes from the coliseum’s royal box to judge with a mere gesture if you live or die. People who actually know what they’re doing say he’s unmistakably a vein of gold, raw pure talent in the rough, but if he doesn’t learn teamwork- even gold is useless if it cannot be refined.

People say lots of things, they say-

 

“Are you here because the more powerful teams rejected you, your Highness?”

Kageyama makes a sound like Baldie and lunges for Tsukishima’s shirt. Daichi has to shout for order and pull Kageyama away, like a wolf swatting a cub back with a giant paw, leaving Tsukishima to dust off his shirt with a sigh. Ugh, he just laundered this shirt. 

(Do you know how hard it is to find decent washing soaps down here? It’s awful. It’s like the Surface norm of washing once a week or whatever is too often to these underground goblins.)

“ _ I’m here too! _ ” The small carrothead hollers. He still hasn’t noticed the bits of snow in his hair.

Negotiation is done. Terms are settled. They learn that Kageyama’s preferred choice of Seijoh had rejected him (“ _ the Great King kicked you out even before you came down???” “That’s not being ‘kicked out’, dumbass!! And shut up about this Great King bullshit-” _ ) and that Carrothead is chasing the phantom footsteps of a Small Giant long past relevancy. 

(“ _ Uh- Karasuno now isn’t like in the Small Giant’s time… if you’re very keen on Knife and Candle you should look at Dateko, they mandate competency in it and play a lot-” “Date- who?” _ )

Tadashi glances at Tsukishima and adds, “Tsukishima’s brother used to be in Karasuno too! Tsukishima Akiteru, do any of you know-” 

“Let it go.” From the incomprehending faces that turn to them, Tsukishima is fairly sure that no one does. “He probably left before you guys joined, he returned to the Surface a long time ago.”

“But he must be pretty cool too if he was part of Karasuno, right?” Carrothead- sorry,  _ Hinata _ \- interrupts, with the bullheadedness of a bull for which “ _ Karasuno”  _ is its equivalent of a red flag. “Especially if he was in Karasuno in the past- maybe he even worked with the  _ Small Giant  _ himself!! That’s super  _ duper _ cool-”

“Oi. Stop running your mouth already, dumbass.” At least the King is capable of reading the dismissal in Tsukishima’s face. 

After that it settles quickly. Introductions are done. Their names are added to short list on a long roll of parchment, whose title line is not  _ Karasuno _ but a torn edge and  _ Daichi Sawamura  _ teetering perilously close to the tear. Hinata and Kageyama’s names are asterisked because they are on probation, and need to learn to shut up about team affairs by the end of the month. 

Mushroom-suit - Silver-hair, Sugawara, what looks like the second-in-command- suggests that the two avoid each other if they bicker so much. To this Hinata screams  _ No, who else will I play Knife and Candle with, Kageyama is really good at it even if he sucks!!!!  _ and it amends the likely-sour words about to come out of Kageyama’s mouth into an  _ I don’t know who else here has the kind of athleticism Hinata has. But Hinata has nothing else going for him other than tha- _

Daichi adds a new condition: if the two fall out to a point where word gets to him, they will both be taken off the team. 

“As…. eventful as that was, we’re glad you came.” Sugawara makes the statement in a way that rings of closure, which is like the way his smile now projects a tempered melancholy. Those mild features lend well to expression, which is a little like Tadashi in that regard. People with too-open faces ought to be careful. “You ought to know Karasuno isn’t the strongest or the most ambitious alliance out there- we were starting to think maybe it would be better to make our generation the last and take the name with us when we eventually leave. But then!”

He claps his hands together. “Four of you turn up at once! You’re all new and nobodies and have a  _ long  _ way to go, but…. At the very least we have a reason to keep Karasuno alive and kicking for a while more. Maybe if we all work hard and aim high, we can think about making our name into a legendary one again! I hope that’s something we can look forward to!”   

From somewhere comes the sound of a sob. Then there’s a  _ why so serious all of a sudden  _ and a solid  _ thwack  _ of Daichi’s broad palm on Sugawara’s back, a friendly slap forceful enough to make the latter stumble. Daichi is smiling, but the tight press of his lips makes it look rather intimidating. Tsukishima imagines Tadashi might even describe it as ‘downright terrifying’. From the looks some of the other members are wearing, Tadashi isn’t the only one who might think that. 

“What Sugawara is saying is, “thanks for joining”! We’re- not exactly thrilled with how you derailed our meeting like that, but he’s right. New blood is something we needed more than we knew, and now we have that- let’s not  _ think  _ about making our name a legend, let’s  _ make  _ our name a legend, how about that?” 

The flock recognizes its cue to cheer; Baldie even gets on the table. Hinata clambers up to join him just as he pulls his shirt over his head and away, the both of them shrieking and stamping like rabid animals, until the proprietor reappears at the door and everyone scrambles to cram a lid on their excitement. 

“Ohkay…… alright, newbies, could I trouble you to leave first? We have other things we were  _ planning  _ to discuss in this meeting, and I see no point in keeping you until you’re caught up on how we- and the Neath- works.”

Hinata and Kageyama start bickering again the moment they turn to leave. Well, it’s not exactly an  _ argument _ \- some absent comment on food leads to an insult leads to a challenge, and the conclusion is a flurry of footsteps down the corridor as the two race to see who can down more mugs of dubious sludgewater downstairs. 

“You know, for all their fighting I think they quite like each other!” Tadashi is saying as they descend the steps, a spring in his step betraying how good he’s feeling about the day. By the time the tables and seats on the first floor come into view the two are already at… whatever they’re trying to do at that table. 

“Figures they might, they’re both imbeciles. Let’s not stay, we’ll be associated with them.”

Tadashi’s laugh tinkles like gentle rain, gentle rain on open fields that do not exist underground.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A housevisit results in an unevenly-matched spar, preaching the distrust of demons, and a weird term that will be explained next chapter. Yes, it's about this verse's volleyball replacement. No, it involves no volleys, nor balls, but there will be lots of murder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I continue to feel regrets. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
>  **More major characters in this chapter:** Tsukishima, Sugawara, Kiyoko  
>  **Characters that have some speaking lines:** Hinata, Kageyama, Yamaguchi, Tanaka

It is 10am on a frigid morning, about a week after their admittance into Karasuno, and the urchin children are out offering themselves as exploitable labour. Ironically only the older ones venture this far, where there’s the closest thing to peace in the Neath; streets cleaned of vermin and lowlifes must be too terrifyingly unlike their domain. 

_ Shovellin’!!  _ They chorus,  the blackening snow already splattered over half their clothes, _ shovellin’ fer fif’ypence in coin or ceekrets!  _

Beside him, Tadashi peers at the address on a slip of paper he’s holding, checking it against a metal nameplate.

“Ladybones Road, Housing District no. 5 …. Lodgings of the Keen Secretariat and the Sanguine Keysmith…. Yeah, it’s this place.”

Tsukishima looks up at the outer facade of a handsome townhouse. It -and its identical neighbours on either side-  might have been a fine color once, perhaps a vivid red, but time and the grimy inexorable paws of dirt have faded the bricks into a muddy grey. 

“... ‘and boarders’. ” He reads out the subscript underneath the nameplate. The namesake identification seems to be just as relied upon here as the house number; at one point they’d passed a row of houses where #50 was next to #8, and #8 was next to a stretch of properties with numbers defaced by age. 

From down the street there is distance-muffled screaming. A pair of screams, that could have been a very aggressive attempt to do a two-part harmony if they were less aggressive and stayed in tune, and Tsukishima doesn’t even need to look to figure out who they are. 

“They’re here too. C’mon.”

He proceeds up the faded steps, the scarred battlefield of a fierce war between some housecleaner and Neath-dirt, and raps the brass door-knocker sharply. Behind him the screams reach maximum volume and then start fading off as Hinata and Kageyama overshoot the end-point of their race.

“Hinata!! Kageyama!! Come back- eh, wait for me, Tsukki!”

The fang-jewelry pair are at the door, Baldie and the Shortie with a flash of sunlight in his hair, and they make a show of boisterous welcome before Sugawara appears behind them and pushes himself to the front.

“Cool it, guys- hey! Are the others here yet-”

(“The newbies need to be  _ put in their place _ , Suga, so they don’t get that kind of bad attitude-)

Tsukishima makes a vague gesture behind him. He hears Tadashi’s chipper greeting, he sees Sugawara brighten his service-staff smile for a second; then he watches the smile fall right off as the man notices something beyond them. Must be the two loudmouths. Sugawara’s brows are creased in the severe way of someone responding to a horrific hansom crash.

“Hinata! Kageyama! Are you okay? Were you chased by something?”

“ _ Huff… huff… _ no, we’re fine!” Hinata brushes dishevelled hair out of his eyes and nudges Kageyama in the side a bit too hard. They count  _ one- two  _ together in an audible whisper before announcing in attempted unison, “Good morning, senpais!!!”

They’re making the effort to redeem themselves, at least. While they’re at it they’re marking themselves out as outsiders to everyone down the street- no one uses  _ senpai _ here, not in London, not even on the Surface where mothers talked about their culture only to their children. Sugawara shooshes them with overbearingly friendly laugher as he ushers everyone in, the note of mild hysteria again in his voice. Maybe it’s just how high his voice naturally is.

(“ _ Senpais!!! They called us senpais!!” “You two, calm dow-” “You’re not a bad sort after all, kiddos! Oi, you two, why aren’t YOU calling us senpais! Go on!” _ )

The Lodgings of the Keen Secretariat and the Sanguine Keysmith are spacious and homely, the sitting room decorated with the sweet staples of English domesticity. There is a bouquet of fresh fungi on the side-table, a tapestry of dancing rats on the wall, a fire in the hearth whose crackling bears a faint resemblance to screams. The metal finishings of the fireplace gleam in the way only Nevercold Brass can.

After first impressions, one notices the marks the owners’ tenants have left on the place- beast-slaying trophies, mid-sized skulls scattered about the place, discreet until Baldie - Tanaka- offers to show everyone the giant sorrow-spider they had taxidermied. The two loudmouths must be the boarders- Tsukishima doubts they have the decor sense to do up this place like it’s been.

Kiyoko has gone into a back room to get Karasuno paraphernalia for them. While they make idle chat, Tsukishima plucks two business cards off their stands and examines the embossed paper.

“So, which one of you is the Keysmith and which one of you is the Secretariat?”

“Shimizu’s the Secretariat. Kiyoko, you know her as Kiyoko. She’s got many contracts at the Embassy- oh, do you know about that yet?” Sugawara plonks a kettle down onto the table they’re seated around and pours tea into cups. The china is decorated with writhing, grotesque figures. At least one of them looks to be on fire. “The Brass Embassy is an embassy for the devils- uh. From Hell. You know about devils and Hell, right-”

To their merit, the rest of the new members nod. Hinata has his hands to his cheeks,  _ that’s so cool!!! _

“Tadashi and I also have lodgings in Ladybones, we’ve passed the Embassy.”

Sugawara relaxes. “Ah, that’s good. Tanaka, Nishinoya, do you want wine? They’re in the usual place if you do.”

“What, no service for us? Suga-saaaaann, we just got newbies and you’re  _ forgetting _ us already?” The shorter hooligan plants his chin down against the tabletop and whines, eyes plaintively wide. Sugawara relents with a laugh, and as he stands to leave the table Nishinoya sits up with surprise- “hey, I was kidding! Haha, thanks Suga!!” 

The tea has the faint pungence of mushrooms, prevented from being overwhelming by an equally strong tang of cinnamon. It has the color of impossibly clear mud.

“What’s it like working for devils? Do you know?” Tadashi asks, and this makes Tanaka puff up in a show of mock seriousness-

“It’s  _ very dangerous  _ working with devils! They’re no good, juniors, you’re doing yourself a favour by staying away from them! Kiyoko-san is  _ very  _ brave and  _ even more _ talented to have good relations with most of them, but those-” Tanaka glances around, eyes lingering on the fireplace, and lowers his voice- “ _ very evil  _ creatures keep making  _ advances  _ on her! They send  _ flowers  _ and all that, which is why ‘Noya and I are here to protect her!” 

It might be a trick of the imagination, but after Tanaka is done with his rant the room seems a little colder than before. He and Nishinoya scan the room again before Nishinoya beckons them closer and whispers, conspiratorially, “we can handle them, but they’re tough. No one knows if you can kill ‘em- of if someone out there does, they either won’t- or  _ can’t _ !- say a peep about it. Don’t go picking fights with a devil under our name, okay?” The last comment is directed to Hinata and Kageyama, who take the advice without protest- though Hinata is cross-eyed, probably about to burst with all the  _ thinking _ that this just made him do.

“So if you don’t know either then you haven’t had to ‘protect’ Kiyoko from anything more threatening than flowers, have you?”

“ _ Oi _ -”

Kiyoko and Sugawara return together; the former with an old box, the latter with an emerald-green bottle and two tankards cleaner than anything you’ll ever find in a public-house. The box  _ thunks  _ onto an unoccupied chair, filling the air with the musty scent of forgotten things, and Kiyoko is all business as she starts rummaging within.

Hinata shoots to his feet with an excited screech. His babbling is incomprehensible. 

“ _ Ow! _ ” Kageyama snaps. “You just hit me,  _ dumbass! _ ”

(In the corner, there is a chorus of “ _ You’re the best, Suga-san! _ ” The response is a good-natured laugh. “Don’t have too much, it’s still early!”)

She pulls out four night-black lumps. They unfold into coats, stiff with disuse but smooth against the skin. It’s fine fabric. As they’re trying the coats on she calls for their attention again, in a voice so soft it might’ve been missed if Nishinoya hadn’t gone around hitting people on the shoulder with a sharp  _ listen!!! _ , and hands out four silver pins in the shape of birds’ wings.

“Tsukki! Tsukki, look! Ah, I can’t believe we’re really in Karasuno now!” Tadashi turns his back and spreads his arms, proudly showing off his coat. Nearby, Hinata has grabbed Kageyama’s pitch lapels. 

“ _ Oi!!  _ I said look at me!!! I look just as cool as you now!!”

“No, a coat doesn’t make you any less of a shrimp. And your pin’s lopsided, dumbass!”

Tadashi’s pin is also lopsided, flopping limply every time he lets go of it to check. On his third attempt Tsukishima steps up to him and prises Tadashi’s hands away, pinning the streak of silver carefully across the midnight fabric.

“There.”

“Even  _ that  _ guy’s helping Yamaguchi with the pin, you’re even worse than him! C’mon, you’ve got to be a better team player!!” 

“...d-don’t compare me to him! You want me to baby you, huh? Fine-  _ ouch, fuck! _ -”

“Come find us if you need anything,” Kiyoko is saying, watching Karasuno’s four new fledgings with an air of quiet pride. (Truly the other two are faces only a maternal figure would be proud of.) “The four of us handle most of Karasuno’s groupwide communications, so if you’ve changed your address or have something urgent, you can drop by. Otherwise, we’ll write to you when a next meeting is confirmed.”

“Consider working on handling yourself in a fight, too!” Sugawara’s teacup issues a faint curl of steam as he chips in between sips. “I know I’ve said we don’t play Knife and Candle much, but Knife and Candle challenges are kind of an inevitability if you don’t go off the radar. Violence is commonplace in the Neath, anyway, so learning self-defense is a very worthwhile investment..”

A still-full teacup trembles and spills some liquid as Nishinoya and Tanaka slam hands down on the table in approval.“We don’t fight  _ much _ , but we’re really badass when we do!” Nishinoya quips, holding a particularly large specimen of his fang-jewelry collection up to prove his point, waggling it with gleeful pride and the clear implication that this hadn’t been merchant-bought. “You got some catching up to do, newbies!”

Hinata and Kageyama are, of course, all in favour of that. Tsukishima catches a nervous side-glance from Tadashi, who’s smiling in the familiar way of someone intimidated by the challenge, and the question forming in his mind becomes one deserving to be asked.

“What if we’re not interested in beating things up in the slummy districts?” He asks, and from Kageyama’s frown notes that he’s caught the derogatory implication in those words- this note is a satisfying one- “I had the impression team-based Knife and Candle calls on a more sophisticated skillset than the default.”

Sugawara’s smile broadens. “You’re right. There’re more ways to fight than to go against your enemies head-on, it’s not that all of you should get into that- how about a demonstration? I know it might be counter-intuitive to people new to the Neath.” It’s not, and imagining alternate ways to win a fight is very much within Tsukishima’s realm of imagination, but he’s not going to turn down such an interesting opportunity. The prospect of action sends a shiver of anticipation through the group; Tanaka and Nishinoya are already standing up from the table, watching Sugawara turn appraising eyes on the four new members.

“Ah….. Hinata, would you care to help me out with this?”

Hinata almost kicks a chair over in his eagerness. Kageyama raises his eyebrows at this, startled - of course, not being considered first is a very big threat to the King- and begins to offer,  _ uh- Sugawara-san -  _ and Sugawara has to assure him that it’s not a meritocratic pick.

“I’d almost say you’re too skilled for what I have in mind, haha. Hinata, take a swing at me? Just attack however you feel like.”

They move to an open space, on the rug patterned to look like a bearskin. Hinata slouches in defeat on processing Sugawara’s implication, that he’s  _ still pretty shitty  _ by all standards, but recovers quickly enough to at the reminder of the spar. Tanaka and Nishinoya form a cheer team by the seats, and have to be shooshed before they disturb any neighbours; and Sugawara is somehow able to look in his element at one end of a metaphorical fighting ring, for all his slenderness and fine clothes. The warm brown in his eyes hardens into cool confidence, the chill of breezes in autumn that make you aware on a subconscious level that something bad is coming.

They all sense it; Hinata definitely senses it, something in his body shifting catlike as he takes a stance. The carrothead is drinking up that unspoken challenge like a wild thing abandoning itself to its instincts, and when he  _ lunges- _

-hmm.

That ferocity is…….. unexpected. Hinata moves like a tornado, a blitz of movement that you think surely  _ can’t _ be sustained for long, and that might even be surprise on Sugawara’s face as he moves out of the way. But the latter is prepared and the dodge is very successful, and the dodges continue being successful, always leaving Hinata to punch wildly at air. 

“ _ You show ‘em, Sugaaaaaa!! _ ”

“ _ Dumbass _ ! Think before you strike!!”

Sugawara moves like water, like sand, and slips past Hinata with the ease of a natural phenomenon. Who wonders why water flows through our fingers?

Now he’s behind Hinata, now he’s slightly to the left of Hinata’s arm outstretched in a punch, now he’s backing away with such speed out of Hinata’s range and forcing the other man to chase him in circles. Nothing has actually connected yet. 

They’re watching the back of Sugawara’s silver-haired head when it happens, when Hinata lets out a frustrated ringing scream  and charges like a bull. The carrothead’s got an incredible amount of physical ability, Tsukishima has to admit. If even half of his punches had hit there’s no saying if Sugawara would still be standing.

Tanaka and Nishinoya advance suddenly, in unison, and Tsukishima notices Sugawara’s fingers behind his back twisted into something like a signal. 

Sugawara sidesteps, giving Tsukishima a full view of Hinata’s agitated charge, and the two hooligans tackle him right into the ground. There is a cacophony of screeches, and a lot of wirthing.

“We got you gooooooddd!” Tanaka hoots, laughing on the rug. “If this were real Knife and Candle, kid, you’d be dead!”

Hinata groans from under him.

“See? You don’t have to be good at outright beating someone up. As long as you don’t go down.” Sugawara puts his hands on his hips and smiles again, his face flushed with as much triumph as there is exhaustion, glowing in the way the moon is triumphant in its prominence during the night. It’d been a battle clearly picked, a battle deep in his territory.

Tsukishima might never admit that he feels the same kind of awe the others do. His reaction is to make a mental note to find out more about this; something no one notices. 

(Except Tadashi, who whispers, “you want to be like too, right? That’s so cool.”)

“You’re Karasuno’s Chandler;” Kageyama breathes, his face trance-like. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Chandler is Knife and Candle's setter, yes I've been trying to force-fit volleyball roles into a game of murder, next chapter you will see the bullshit I came up with to justify my forcefits
> 
> I think they sound pretty cool but I am a bad judge of myself :P
> 
> Unfortunately in my plans Knife and Candle will be completely brutalized; I claim it's to adapt it for team-based play but it's actually because I read through the wiki and I understood nothing. (OOPS) I should probably try it since I think I fulfill the requirements now- never got around to it (oops again)- but a friend who HAS played it doesn't understand either so, lmao


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kiyoko tells everyone about murder volleyball, Tsukishima stalks cats, angst that canonically ought to have happened much later happens now. Also, someone gets arrested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **More major characters in this chapter:** Tsukishima, Yamaguchi, Kiyoko  
>  **Characters that have some speaking lines:** Sugawara, two cats

Chandler?

Sugawara’s gaze falters. “Yeah,” he replies, sounding a little uncertain of it himself, “I’m Karasuno’s Chandler. That’s what you want to be too, right?” The man recovers quickly enough, his face again recovering that sheen of gentle self-assuredness. Kageyama in contrast is a man of pitiful few expressions, squinting a bit more than he usually does to pass off as surprise, and that makes Sugawara quirk a grin like he’s won a little game. “Daichi and I saw one of your streetbrawls- Hinata was there, too- and it even made _us_ a little fired up, hehe. That’s the main reason why we accepted you at all!”

Hinata is vocalizing liberally as he processes all this- _you were there!!! You saw us, wait, which one did you see- waaait, so I’m just here because of him?_

“What’s a Chandler?” Tsukishima speaks above the noise to the nearest person. That’s Kiyoko.

“The backbone of our offense- though I should probably explain Knife and Candle first,” she answers instead, a little obliquely, but no one’s complaining. Kiyoko plunges a hand into the plush crevices of her seat, face calm like the featureless darkness of the Neath’s ceiling, and in a few seconds she’s fished out a palmful of coins and knickknacks. They go into two groups in the side table. Tadashi crowds around to watch, crouching on the ground in front of the demonstration.

“Knife and Candle is traditionally a free-for-all game of murder. But when Londoners first formed alliances, Knife and Candle players with fractions started targeting people from other teams according to political grudges. Eventually, the Neath produced the team-played variation, both a recreational game and a means to settle disputes.”

“So we’re literally thugs bonding through group murder.”

“That’s up to you to interpret, but this is how it’s told.” There’s a way to tell this, now? Passed down by what, cave-bats maybe. For all Tsukishima’s seen that might actually be the truth. Kiyoko shifts her head, and from the new angle her glasses flash opaque.

“By how we play it, there’re two sides, and you win if you kill everyone on the opposing team.” In a smooth sweep she swipes all the items on one side off the table. Most are picked up in her palm, but a tooth drops onto the floorboards with a muted clatter. Tadashi gasps, drinking in the suspense in the air, then scrambles to pick it up.

“Of course death isn’t permanent in the Neath, so it’s all right! Just make sure to leave your victim’s body intact, and don’t vandalize it. That’s bad manners.” She begins slotting her knickknacks back into her seat. There’s a muffled _thud_ of Hinata hitting the ground again, and for a moment the atmosphere of the story halts like a mirror shattered. Tanaka and Noshinoya guffawed like rats would, of they gaffawed (they do down here, don't they?)

“Do you think we should get them here so they hear this, too?” Tadashi muses aloud as he watches Hinata and Kageyama bicker- _I’ll take care of any opponent Chandler for you, dumbass- no, no, I want to be able to do it myself! Please let me try again!!_ \- from the brighter flush across Sugawara’s face and the fact that Tanaka’s shirt is a disgusting lump on an empty seat, they’ve been at this for a while.

“No, they’ve probably already heard the story.” Kiyoko is serene. “They’re already familiar with the game, so they must’ve. Where was I- now, K-Sugawara, our Chandler, he tells the team where to go,when to attack. They take his lead on whether to go on the offensive or defensive. There’s a common misconception among new players that Chandlers are weak spots- not necessarily. If you tried to attack Sugawara, you’d end up like Hinata did. Someone else can probably tell you more about each role, but for starters-”

There’s a loud, hurried rapping on the door. People look up; Tanaka and Nishinoya race to open it. They make it through booming the first few words before whoever’s outside makes them quiet down, and talk like civil people.

“Ey, someone’s looking for the Keysmith!”

As he strides down the hall to the door Sugawara slips something dark off the coat-rack. Tsukishima glances down to the Karasuno coat in his hands, comparing shades; the lines of trim that settle over Sugawara’s frame are even darker. Those lines are rips in reality sewn onto clothing, absorbing light like water, coiling snakelike as their wearer moves.

“Sounds like a client;” The Surface-silk of her dressing gown spills to the ground as Kiyoko rises from her seat. The folds pool around her ankles. “You should probably get going.”

“Someone’s looking for keys?”

“Information,” She specifies, taking a gliding step that sends ripples down her dyed mercury gown; “makes for very effective keys.”

Sugawara inclines his head back and shouts _do we have anything else for the newcomers?_

“No! You four can go now. It’s been nice meeting with you…!”

The client is someone’s somber houseservant, pretending not to see them as they hurry out. After the door closes on them Tadashi speaks, an innocent question unhurriedly punctuated with snuffles as they feel the cold again.

“You two kind of know the game already, right? Could you tell us about it?”

Hinata’s eyes go very round, and he inches closer with his face slack in some sort of reverence- “Knife and Candle!! So uh, okay, traditionally it’s a free-for-all game of murder, but when Londoners first formed alliances-”

Wow. Okay.

Hinata's eyes are glazed like Kiyoko's glasses had been.

* * *

 

Near the heart of the Neath lie its true colors- a single grand spire of power, a leaning clock-tower extending into the darkness like a path to heaven, overlooking the sapling spires and bustling commercial undergrowth. They say the Masters’ seat of power is there. And beyond is absolute wreckage.

Between Veilgarden and Spite you can choose to have your valuables stolen or charmed out of you, the latter over drinks and dances to convince you you’ve known this stranger for longer than you really have.

Theft is more straightforward.

A few churchgoers let out less than civil responses when Tsukishima jostles into them. He responds with a less than civil face- in other words, a face of absolute disregard- and strolls off from the crowd in the self-assured way that makes people turn away with dark scoffs. In a few steps he becomes a tangle of abstract shadows, gone into the night once the lamplights on the footpath stop reaching him.

In the first week here he’d had his lens-cloth stolen four times, at which point he’d stopped bringing things of value out. Now, releasing four new slips of silk from his hands into the depths of his pockets, he has no shortage of lens-cloths.

Anyway. Where is he?

Right. Cats. Also, exposition about Fallen London.

Veilgarden’s Elderwick is a bit of a walk from his lodgings in Ladybones, farther west. But to skirt city center is less than half the trip to Watchmatcher’s Hill, the fungal wilderness on the other side of the Stolen River that somehow manages to be even dirtier than _Spite_. Also, the loudmouths Carrothead and ex-King live there.

Additionally, Tadashi is right here down the street, and Tadashi is infinitely more tolerable.

Tsukishima steps up from a mushroom-pot and hefts himself onto a ledge, shimmies over a railing, sinking into the shadows of a balcony overhang. He’s still a little clumsy but you wouldn’t be able to tell at first glance, looking at how he slips without a sound and continues like it’d been an intentioned show of showboating. He’s getting there.

The black ones still evade him, but one shade lighter and the grey ones are too distinct from the shadows to hide from him. He scoops one up from the edge of the overhang, ignoring the _mrrow_ of distress as he lowers himself onto stabler ground and stops looking like an awful serpentine spider dangling from the roofs of church balconies. There are (probably) no snake-spider hybrids for a very excellent, good reason.

Anyway. “Do you have anything on Ladybones?” He asks the grey cat, holding its smoky form firm lest it squirms vapor-like through his fingers.

_Ah, I must admit you got me. Here- there’re a few jade smuggling routes that go right around the Constable Headquarters, I’ve heard. Their criminals claim it’s a matter of pride to sneak things right under the Constables’ noses._

Yes, wrangling secrets out of cats is apparently a pastime that pays rent around here. The only inconvenience is that the greys congregate in churches- which congregate here, in one of the districts of sin- but it is only an inconvenience.

Eventually he lets the cat go, down on the whitestone balcony candlelit to look like a lovers’ rendezvous, and it whines to be put back on the roof after it pays its dues.

Cats give up to thirteen secrets, in itself both a rating and a reward, since if you’re the idea of perfection to a cat then wouldn’t you be an unlucky person to be around?

Tsukishima gets ten from this cat, for a well-executed catch. On the last secret he grudgingly climbs back on the railings and hefts the cat back onto its moonbathing spot, watching it settle into a comfortable grey fog on the roof. When it’s happy it meows again with clear satisfaction in its voice:

 _A Troubadour once gave a cat their real name in exchange for information about the_ Marvelous. _They’ve got a face like yours, if I remember correctly. I usually do.  Your kind of brown eyes, but darker. That’s all, it’s been an intrigue working with you._

Isn’t the _Marvelous_ the name of that game Kageyama wants to play?

More importantly, the name- a real name is a head-turner in the Neath. It’s always a bad idea to say one’s real name anywhere that’s not completely enclosed.

A slip of a name isn’t too much of a loss if you’re a nobody like he currently is, but it’s a back door into the fiercely guarded fortresses that important people build, and it’s a slender pathway right up to the back of their throne, and _that_ is a spot assassins dream of. Many months of rent could be paid with the name of someone important. Even better, if that person was someone Tsukishima might one day bump into...

“Wait, which Troubadour? Do they have any affiliations?”

An amused mrow. Tsukishima gets on the railing again, peeks over the roof, but the cat is already indistinguishable from the wash of grey-blues permanently rolling over the city. Its purr lingers on the wind.

_Do you want to trade something about yourself for that?_

No, he does not. An intrigue to do business with you, too.

He’s on his third cat when one points out _y our friend’s in a bit of trouble, the one trying to break into the painter’s,_ and Tsukishima almost drops it. The cat is highly offended.  It’s greatly offended by this. _While your stealth is positively feline, would you mind being gentler if there’s a next time?_

This is very interesting, for reasons unrelated to rent.

_Only one secret and you’re going? That’s almost insulting. Here- there’re some nice houses down Hollow Street, and quite a few people are planning burglaries on them during this week!_

Tsukishima waves back in acknowledgement- it pays to be civil to cats he’s figured- and when he glances back to check who he’s waving at -it also pays to be doubly sure if your gestures have accidental recipients- the cat is gone. Or maybe at this distance the cat is indistinguishable from the faded church walls around it, hinting its existence only through the feline sigh that floats in the air. It’s a meowing sort of sigh. Only Fallen Londoners will understand.

Tsukishima passes the gate, breaks into a wider street, starts running.

There are fewer social occasions on Sunday, to give the churches some socialite business. No, correction- there are just as many social occasions on Sunday, only that some of them are now held in churches, and pretending to be holy becomes the fashion statement of the day. Nothing except the truth really justifies how the smaller churches only hold evening services at the fashionable hour. At any rate, the streets of Veilgarden blaze less brightly than they usually do; less buildingfronts light up their ornamental displays advertising a booksale, a soiree, a ball. Tsukishima is relatively unharassed in his quick advance through Elderwick.

A gaggle of Constables gather outside the house of one ginger painter. None of them look particularly happy to be out here, instead of Spite where there’s a criminal in every street to catch. The ginger painter is trying to convince them, with wild gesticulations and insistent shouts that there had been an intruder, not particularly disruptive rats.

Tadashi is somewhere on that crumbling rooftop, or deep in the unkempt house. He’s the kind who fear will freeze, the chill flowing through his bloodsteam to numb every limb. Obviously that means he’s completely unsuited for villainy, but here they are in this situation.

The Constable snorts when Tsukishima taps him on the shoulder, about to give a brusque dismissal, but a _tipoff for you?_ -quietens him down.

“You must work very hard. I can ease your workload and tell you about a street I’ve heard burglaries are being planned on, so you don’t have to bother with false leads.”

The painter splutters angrily at being called a false lead, and babbles about ruined paintings; this is the fourth break-in in the past two weeks, he insists, someone is out to ruin him. Spittle beads on his beard and cheap pyjamas.

Tsukishima considers increasing the bribe. Luckily he doesn’t have to, watching the way the Constable’s compatriots are turning with interest towards him. He whispers the hint to the one he’s talking to, about Hollow Street and its grand vulnerable houses, and makes up an estimated number of criminal plans as embellishment. The Constable tips his hat to Tsukishima and orders the blue-lapeled crowd to disperse.

Elderwick’s side alleys are dim, its few gas-lights struggling for purchase against the greedy darkness. Tsukishima scans the buildingside as he circles the house, imagining the routes Tadashi might’ve taken across the messy brickwork and myriad of ledges. Some of the houses down here have loose bricks, that come off in his hand when he scales the walls, jostled out of their place during the Fall.

“Trainee?”

His hands are powdery with dried cementing paste and dirt.

“Oi, Young Trainee.”

Pseudonyms exist because it’s always a bad idea to say one’s real name anywhere that’s not completely enclosed. The gaping void above him leers, swallows up the name he whispers.

“ _Yamaguchi_!”

A shadow by the chimney shifts. Tsukishima continues with _it’s me_ , the call almost lost to the night-bustle, and Tadashi unpeels his gangly frame from the sloped roof.

“Constables are gone. Let’s go.”

Tadashi hesitates in the shadows, then scampers to catch up when Tsukishima turns away. Tsukishina pauses when he hears the footsteps, a little too loud and frantic over the tiles, pretending not to notice when Tadashi’s fingers sink like claws into his arm.

They go down together.

“You’re really bad at being a criminal,” Tsukishima starts when they are again within the safety of the crowds. His arm aches from Tadashi’s vicegrip; the only sign that Tadashi’s stumbling is out of terror rather than a particularly immersive honey-dream. “The two loudmouths don’t know the first thing about you. Do something else.”

“B-but, what-”

“Literally anything else you want. You don’t even want the jewel, the Cagey Traveler and Titleless Idiot #1 fed you the idea.” A drunken aristocrat stumbles past, blustering angrily about nothing. A multitude of eyes follow his advance into the crowd, while the faces they rest in pretend to look the other way. A meaningfully well-dressed woman approaches them, wearing a salesperson smile, and Tsukishima greets her with a _no thanks_.

She goes away, to pester other men with no need to be seen at church today.

“I- but I- Hinata and Kageyama, when they talk about their ambitions they sound s-so cool, and motivated, and t-they’re on their way to something great and I….” Might Tadashi accidentally break an arm? Possibly. But after some anxious kneading his grip finally softens, and Tsukishima sucks in a breath when his arm tingles with alarm-bell insistency. “I wanted to….”

Trust Tadashi to fall for their bravado. Tsukishima recalls their bullheaded bravado, fuelled by drink and adrenaline from a Keysmith’s stellar performance; they took turns throwing their plans to the room like scattering birdseed. At least the ambitions of two nobodies are low-grade peckings that no one’s really interested in.

But if Tadashi and his starry eyes tries to climb up after them, let alone through this ill-matched path, the only thing Tsukishima imagines waiting for him up there is a fall back down.

“You don’t need an ambition to get places. Neither do you need that cow-sized jewel you’re trying to find. Who knows if it even exists?”

“It _does_ , I’ve asked people about it, and-” Tadashi bursts out, jerking his head up so the streetlamps light up his face, lines of emotion scrunching his freckles together. “- if I give up now it’ll be like how we stopped talking about Tsukishima-kun-”

This again?

“There was nothing to talk about in the first place. Aki-”

This name is heavy in the pit of his stomach; it brings to mind the smell of white chrysanthemum bouquets, too recent and too unsavoury. This name doesn’t want to rise to his tongue even if it were a good idea. It’s not even a good idea. The first piece of advice anyone would tell you is to never use a real name outside a room completely enclosed.

“ _My brother_ is a settled matter.”

“ _He’s not!!_ ”

There is a sudden spike of seeming disinterest in their affairs; heads turned away, fungi-trimmed fans lifted to noses.  Tsukishima knows that those heads are turned so their ears are closer to him. Tadashi, gripping Tsukishima’s sleeve with a new sort of forcefulness, does not. _Let’s discuss this back in Ladybones_ , Tsukishima mutters, already veering Tadashi towards the quieter alleyways.

Drop it, he wants to say, stop bringing it up. Stop bringing that name up with those glim-shard eyes betraying, too transparently, that going a mile underground still can’t bring Tadashi out from the shadow of a certain unsavoury event-

“Tsukki- _Tsukki!! I’m serious about this!!”_

Tsukishima pulls Tadashi out of the main street’s golden glow with the last of his control, deep, as deep as he can into the nearest alley. It’s not very deep because Tadashi quickly shakes free, only about ten paces in, but most secret-scavengers in Veilgarden fear larger predators too much to be seen near the sidealleys.

“Young Trainee. Look behind you.” Of course the kind of creature that you’d find in alleys are here, a gin-scented old man with a grubby coat and a wolf’s grin, who is retreating into the shadows when he catches the sight of Tsukishima’s pocketknife. Ten paces is still close enough for him to catch light from the brilliant main streets and make it gleam down his knifeblade, light that repulses these back-end types enough to drive them away. (Being armed helps, though.)

“R-right-” Tadashi’s disorientated, but the intention of a hunt persists in his mind, and Tsukishima senses that intent as he watches Tadashi shake himself back on track. “Tsuk- Knifesman. I’m serious about getting to the bottom of what happened to your brother. Didn’t- didn’t we come down here for that? It’s the least we could do! I don’t want to bring up things to people since you keep saying not to talk about it, but-! But it’s-!”

They didn’t technically come down for that. Tsukishima had only said _let’s go to the Fallen City_ , and Tadashi had been the one who supplemented with _Tsukishima-kun, Tsukishima-kun, Tsukishima-kun from Karasuno_.

The Neath has forgotten whatever namesake Tsukishima Akiteru went by, his legacy obliterated like the four cities before London- now in pieces beneath London. Karasuno had stared at them with blank faces at the mention of an Akiteru, and Tsukishima satisfied himself with that answer. So why won’t Tadashi-

“It’s not going to bring him back. So what if we find the murderer?”

This shocks Tadashi into silence. A flake of Neath-slow descends onto his head, creating a single eye-catching blemish.

It’ll snow tonight. He should make this quick. Show Tadashi that nothing will bring back any of the first four Fallen Cities.

“There’s no point in spending so much effort if it’s not going to change anything. The people on the Surface will be grieving for years- but so what? The world’s moved on. The only thing of use to do is to start a new life and do something we couldn’t up there.”

“But- but-”

“Come on, we should get back before it snows for real.” Maybe if he starts the walk back Tadashi will simmer and stop. It might take time- he expects that, expects the distressed _wait_ as he turns away- but time turns everyone around to reality. “Why do you want to do so much if it’s not going to get you anything?”

 

“ _It’ll get me pride!”_

 

Oh-

 

Tadashi surges forward like he never has. Even though Tsukishima can’t feel his grip under his winter layers, as Tadashi wrenches him forward by the coat and gives him a single furious shake, he imagines it’s a force comparable to Daichi’s. Maybe even more, with all that emotion rolling out through Tadashi’s fingers and emotion-wrenched face, his voice rasping hoarse. It’s hard to look at his face for too long.

Tadashi cares about this with every faculty of caring he has, and tonight Tadashi caring about something is farther from lame than it’s ever been.

 _“-That I did what I could, even if it’s not everything, don’t you want to be able tell yourself that?_ I want to chase something and get somewhere- and down here it’s the first time I can do something for Tsukishima-kun that none of his family on the Surface can- _he deserves to have at least someone find out why-_ and I- I want- I want to….”

He blazes in the lamplight. Tsukishima thinks of Hinata’s sunbird hair turning heads in a crowd. Tadashi uncoils from his reservations like a bird taking flight and soars, straight up and up until he smoulders into the darkness above them. He’s smouldering now, faltering back into the usual uncertainties, but the words still ring in Tsukishima’s mind. The after-image of an arrow flying straight to its mark.

“I didn’t know you became so cool.”

“Uh- what?”

“Turn a bit, you’ll look cooler under the lighting-” He reaches and, with the lightest of touches, angles Tadashi’s face until the lights streak gold clawmarks across his cheeks. Tadashi yields at a poke, bemused, the way he usually does. The glim-gleam has faded from his wide eyes, but Tsukishima has a feeling he should conclude dormancy rather than disappearance. The feeling is a lurching, uneasy feeling, a mixture of admiration and something queasy- not towards Tadashi, but he can’t pin down what it is yet. For a rare few moments Tadashi had been a shooting star, shooting upwards into the night in a bid to replace the sun, and Tsukishima isn’t sure what that means for him.

“Tsuk-”

“You’ve become cool, you realize?” He tries for a casual laugh, to play off the tension, but somehow it doesn’t come out all that casual. “If it’s really that important for you, you can go look into my brother’s death as much as you want. It’s probably a better use of your time than the jewel.”

“B-but what about you?”

“... I’ll think about what you just said. It’s not something I can accept so easily. Let’s...head back now.”

* * *

 

In the morning the Neath is still as dark; but the streetlights in Ladybones are made brighter to give the illusion of a brighter time of day. (Veilgarden on the other hand leaves its lights screaming all the time. Veilgarden does not care about the laws of nature.) Tsukishima is well-off enough to afford a few newspaper subscriptions, and the sheafs of cheaply-printed information are collected with the mail.

 _PEACE SECURED IN HOLLOW STREET: CONSTABLES TRACK DOWN KINETIC BUCCANEER,_ a subheader announces.

The location gives Tsukishima pause, and his mild interest develops into a smirking satisfaction as he reads.

_The notorious Kinetic Buccaneer was apprehended while loitering suspiciously on Hollow Street last night after a tipoff. The Constables involved patrolled the street with great vigilance, and were glad for their efforts to pay off in making the Neath safer…_

Ah, the poor sod. Tsukishima isn’t apologizing, though.

His mug of mushroom tea is already turning lukewarm, between his less-than-ideal excuse of a stove and the weather. It’s a shame coffee is a luxury down here, because lukewarm mushroom tea is even worse than lukewarm coffee. Tsukishima stomachs another sip and leafs through his few letters.

 

_Knife Candle training postponed to 25th, same time & place. Keysmith and Yatchman tracking down ace to join you. - Efficient Curator_

 

Maybe he’ll cross-reference with Tadashi later to make sure letters got through to both of them. The mail system is unreliable on the best of days, and the private couriers might’ve been a viable option a decade ago when intercepting them hadn’t been a public (not to mention profitable) sport. Was this place even down here a decade ago? Who cares.

Tsukishima isn’t even going- not to the godforsaken _Watchmaker’s Hill_ , he’s not- but Tadashi is, with his eyes hiding glimshine, and Tsukishima has realized that when Tadashi is invested in something it’s a lot cooler than he expected. He’s not about to impede that.

Speaking of glim! The jewels of the Unterzee. Or phosphorescent insect chitin, according to other sources. Tsukishima has bagful of them from…. various sources(; nothing needs to be monetized to be used as payment down here, which is convenient and inconvenient at different times) and a few shards are on his table next to the tea-mug.

He picks one up and holds it out to the candles in the room. Amber slides across the shard’s deep sapphire surface, like apocalyptic flames over the ocean as humanity perhaps crashes into the sun. Tsukishima thinks of Tadashi, and Akiteru long ago when the Tsukishima house had been new and they’d been making fun of English accents with each other- the latter memory sours and is quickly set aside, but ah. He always had the silly inclination to believe in eyes bright like glimshine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An unfortunate announcement- a wrist injury of mine has come up again and so writing is difficult again, which means future updates will probably be real delayed for a while. I'm very sorry :( I really hope it doesn't get bad to the point where I end up stopping, I've got a lot more I want to write......
> 
> Anyway, on to more relevant notes- there'll be a POV switch next chapter, to another Karasuno first-year. So the focus will shift away from Tsukki for a while! 
> 
> Another note about these pseudonyms: there's a pattern behind how each character is titled, and that might help you keep track of who's who. It's not very difficult really. For the yet-unrevealed Kinetic Buccaneer, this pattern is reversed. Terms starting with k are hard to find!!!!!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kageyama hunts rats with Hinata. Basic newbie training turns into a chase scene turns into Karasuno's Ace getting thrown off the building. Nishinoya is mad for reasons unknown to this narrator, but Tsukishima wouldn't have known either if we'd stuck to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **More major characters in this chapter:** Kageyama, Hinata, Nishinoya, Tanaka  
>  **Characters that have some speaking lines:** Yamaguchi, Asahi

The Cagey Traveler Kageyama Tobio intermittently dreams of his past. Maybe he should count himself lucky that not all of his trying experiences make it onto the lexicon of his recurring dreams; he hasn’t yet woken up with the memory of confused fear and Oikawa-san’s sneer telling him, _don’t come near any banner of mine, a’ight?_ But that thought isn’t much consolation from the stabs of panic that’re still fresh, the afterimage of room after empty room that he groggily shoves away.

Reality is not the suddenly-vacant dormitories of years ago; it is the sound of the clanging bell, the damp chilly air, the floorplan of cramped quarters above a gambling den. Still, Kageyama turns on his side and tightens a fist around starchy blankets, thinking of the day an entire group abandoned him for the Neath.

_(Yer’  mates? Yeah, they left about two days ago? What, they didn’t tell ya’? Hahaha, did’cha get on their bad side?)_

Then Hinata shouts, like a goat faced with a bloody axe. The mop of brilliant orange dives for their tiny closet, placed at an infuriatingly inconvenient spot that’s at least equidistant to both their beds. _This_ is Kageyama’s reality, and like _hell_ is he going to let that dumbass get ready first-

By the time they’re done several pieces of furniture are knocked over and water is dripping liberally from Hinata’s hair onto his clothes. Kageyama’s coat is inside out. Something under his bed snuffles in a frightened manner; he lobs a hardened slab of bread in that direction to deal with it.

“Your coat isn’t on properly, that doesn’t count!”

“You haven’t dried your hair either!”

It’s hardly pleasant sharing quarters, but it had been either ‘live with Hinata’ or ‘take separate flophouse apartments’, with the latter involving nonexistent ventilation and floors that might have never been cleaned. The Gambling Den’s toilets still leak into a sludgy mess of water and dirt all over the floor, but at least the water is mostly clear.  And Hinata can live with the thing under his bed better than he himself can. They elbow each other on the way out, each trying to be the first out of the door, and traipse into the grubby pantry where the breakfast is.

It’s rat stew, and it sucks. At least it’s mildly warm rat stew.

“Mmphf ratpf’s tougmmh,” Hinata gurgles something in-between mouthfuls. Kageyama understands mostly because the soggy chunks in his own bowl have the taste and texture of leather. Leather dipped in vaguely seasoned mud. “Musfft be anf old rampf.”

“Don’t think so much and just eat the damn rat.”

“Mmfh- you can taste it too, can’t you? I can see it on your face, heh.”

“Stop it-” Kageyama shifts his bowl to turn away from the little dumbass. Touching his bowl leaves his palm sticky. “If you don’t hurry up and eat we’re going to be late for training later!”

This shuts Hinata up for a few moments, making him tackle his shitty stew with renewed urgency. A while later, there’s the _clack_ of his spoon falling back against the bowl’s rim- “eh, isn’t that way later?”

“Yeah, but. We should practice on our own before that.”

“ _Oh yeah!”_ Looks like he’s finally turned around to Kageyama’s wisdom. Hinata’s enthused shout echoes through the room, through the thin flaking walls in the way the landlord doesn’t like, and it makes some other tenant stare on their way in.

Kageyama stares back. Then he remembers this is how ninety percent of his fights start, and he’s trying not to get thrown out of this place.

“What’cha you lookin’ at?” The other tenant growls, snuffling like an asthmatic bulldog, and Kageyama forces his gaze back to the stain-marbled tabletop.

“Nothing.” And then, scraping up the afterthought like one would slimy dredges in a lukewarming bowl- not entirely willingly- “Sorry.”

If the man had wanted to comment on Hinata’s shout, he didn’t. More people trickle in and Hinata’s comments dwindle into the occasional conspiratorial whisper, except when he plonks his bowl against the table to hear the hollow _CLACK_ and announces triumphantly that he’s done. Kageyama decides against trying to pick at the mush left in his, and so they leave.

Kageyama had meant to spend today toting around his stupid monkey, the one he stuffed under his bed because that had been the only uncluttered space left in the room, the mute witness to the dissolution of his only lead. Yes, he’d like to make progress on scoping out the _Marvelous_ -a card-game with a miracle as the prize is extraordinarily lucrative- but a rescheduled Knife and Candle session wins any day against a goddamn primate.

Maybe he shouldn’t have accepted Oikawa-san’s copy of _On The Maladies of Goats._ The damn thing’s probably sabotaged, how is he supposed to end up with a gibbering monkey?! Why would a monkey be in the middle of the city’s historical sites when he’d been told (in retrospect, probably lied to) about expecting a woman? Kageyama knows somewhere out there is an authentic copy, nestled away in a small bookstore with the _actual_ address he’s supposed to follow, but it’s in _Veilgarden_ \- and Veilgarden’s not quite someplace he-

“Thinking about your game again?” When he gets a sullen glare in response, Hinata chuckles. “I heard you whisper _‘that damn monkey’_ again. We can work on it after training!! You can buy some rat bait on the way back, maybe it drop a clue on where you have to go for food?”

“ _We?_ Don’t talk like you’re going to be there, whenever you’re at our place you’re passed out.”

“Not _all_ the time!! And it’s not like you don’t come in sometimes and conk out immediately!”

Watchmaker’s Hill is chilly and damp. The marshes nearby are warmer and damper, where it always drizzles instead of snows. They sneak in three hours before meeting-time rat-catching there, because their reputation in pub-brawls has made everyone unwilling to fight them but Hinata _needs_ the practice. Hinata is still an _awful_ mess of sloppy unpolished athleticism and he needs to be sharper, not be so clumsy, did you not see that rat coming at you from the side-?

The dumbass grits his teeth and says _‘Again,’_ his eyes set like a bull’s on an imaginary red flag. Then a rat appears from his hair and he yelps as he pulls it off.

“Into the _bag_ , don’t just throw them back into the marsh-!”

For the first time in a long time Kageyama is the one who thinks of stopping first. Not because ‘taking a break’ is in his dictionary, no, but because the realization ambushes him that they’re about to be late. Only as they’re hurrying back to the Hillside, the humidity of the marshes clinging to their bodies, does it occur to Kageyama that he’d once resolved to be slightly less of an asshole.

This idiot with firebird hair could be a partner like he’s never had before. But this idiot also really fucking sucks, and wouldn’t last one minute without him.

 _But,_ beggars can’t be choosers. The rest of Karasuno are used to flocking to another Chandler; for now the dumbass is the only partner he has. Unpleasant life lessons do not need to be revisited for their preachings to be learnt.

“Hard at work already, I see,” Nishinoya booms, he and Tanaka both beaming. In between breathless heaves Kageyama feels droplets of sweat slide down his skin, uncomfortably; Hinata had braked so fast he fell over, and is ripping himself from the ground with a grunt. When he stands he reveals dark moisture-stains on the uneven stone paths of Hillside civilization.

Yamaguchi looks significantly less pleased with them, and the bag of rats they brought.. Tsukishima looks non-present.

“Yamagu-!!” Hinata gets three syllables in before Kageyama catches him, with an elbow to the chest that makes him wheeze.

“Hi, uh, Traveler, and.... seniors...” Yamaguchi bobs his head, steering the conversation back into normal waters. "And... the Traveler's... friend."

“Trainee. Hey.” They do this back-and-forth exchange when they cross paths, for positive reinforcement. New identities are hard to settle into, granted, but Kageyama has practiced on the Surface working under pseudonyms. Hinata obviously hasn't been. 

There’s something interesting about Yamaguchi today, an inner calm the boy settles back into after his faintly flustered response. Kageyama is sure suggesting a long-term ambition for him had been a good idea- or maybe this is unseen depths revealed in Tsukishima’s absence, the dark side of the moon that goes unnoticed when the asshole is drawing all the attention.

He’d ask how things were going with that jewel, but Tanaka is loudly lecturing Hinata about the importance of codenames and it’s hard to talk over him.

“It’s dangerous giving out real names, okay kid? Have you thought of yours yet?” Tanaka has his hands on his hips in his best lecturing parent impression, but only succeeds in looking like a thug trying to obedience-train a mongrel he picked up yesterday. The marsh-stink wreathing Hinata, almost a faint cloud of musk around him if you squinted a little, isn’t helping their case.

“He’s the Harebrained Shortie,” Kageyama suggests, as innocently as Kageyama Tobio is capable of.

Hinata wails in outrage.

* * *

 

“Are those noodles for us?”

 

“ _Heh heh heh,_ pipsqueak, nice try. It’s for our Ace, when he gets here!”

 

“How long more til he gets here? I wanna meet the Ace!! Is he cool??”

 

“We don’t know for sure, but he’ll come eventually. He’d _better._ ”

 

“Ah, Yachtman, did something happen between you and the Ace?”

 

Nishinoya sets his jaw, his eyes like warning flares, and Kageyama decides some conversations are better cut short.

The seniors easily get them a few produce sacks to practice their blows on. When Hinata ‘s incessant whaling rips the fabric Nishinoya picks up the shrooms that roll out, giving them a passing inspection before chewing on one. His face settles into an absent thoughtfulness, cleaved occasionally by one of his characteristic wide grins when someone does something worth attention; Kageyama admires his ability to swallow raw shrooms without so much of a twitch. Tanaka is the one doling out praises (usually Hinata) or boyish teasing (usually Yamaguchi or Hinata), crackling as Nishinoya thumps them on the back without warning.

When they do it to him and he stumbles three steps from the force of Nishinoya’s palm -almost falls -Kageyama stops mentally sneering at the others for faring so badly.

“Okay, one more set and we can go beat up some real people!” Tanaka announces cheerily. Under the cover of Yamaguchi slipping on some streetmuck and falling face-first into the punching bag, Kageyama ducks down to steal  a sliver of shroom dislodged from his own sack. Hm.

One side is covered with a visible sprinkling of dirt and unidentified grime, and he decides it _can’t_ be that Nishinoya-san is so calm because the shrooms are actually _good._

“By the way, if you wanna practice on your own here’s a good place- Watchmaker’s Hill is free game, the solo rounds of Knife and Candle are held here anyway. Just crash ‘em if you don’t have the reputation to join officially, and you’ll _get_ that reputation.” Nishinoya sounds pleased at the idea, speaking as he weaves among the new members. Like a large cat recounting its best hunt. “The Wolfstack Docks are out, though. Thought you should know- that’s territory behind the Iron Wall, we don’t mess with ‘em.”

 _Date Kougyou_ \- the alliance of iron, specializing blatantly and unrepentantly at playing Knife and Candle- have colonized the Docks in a way few other groups have. On a likely related note few other groups focus on Knife and Candle as much as they do, few other groups have the impenetrable defense they have; the Crow-flock’s four neophytes are not to get on the bad side of the Iron Wall. Nishinoya and Tanaka take turns to explain on- the Cats and Owls occupy Spite, though they’re laxer about what happens in their neighborhood. A lot happens in Spite whether one likes it or not, after all.

What? Karasuno doesn’t keep official territory, we’re not at a state where defending territory makes sense. I know that look, Shortie, don’t get any ideas so soon. Cutting up the territory-pie isn’t fun business at all-

Suddenly Tanaka yelps, and starts pummeling Nishinoya’s shoulder with one hand. With the other  he’s pointing to the stool where they’d set a bowl of noodles- a shoddy imitation of ramen that had still managed to cost a small fortune- except that it’s now an empty stool, a faint cry, and what might be a patter of footsteps in the distance if Nishnoya’s shouting hadn’t covered it up.

“ _ASA- ACE!! ACE, YOU FUCKIN’ COWARD, COME BACK!”_

Nishinoya takes off into a sprint.

“New plan, we’re chasing our Ace down!” Tanaka announces over the confusion of the newcomers, herding the three of them forwards in a tangle of limbs and ignored questions. “Go get ‘im, go go go!”

Kageyama would point out that _you didn’t see the thief’s face_ , but the word _ace_ is like a warhorn that sends Hinata charging down the alley, and the rest of them are sprinting to keep up, and he thinks Yamaguchi might’ve vocalized his point but the stumbling words are lost to their rough footfalls.

They stampede around a corner to see a large shadow disappear over a ledge, trailing spilled noodles in his wake. Hinata has outsped them all and caught up to Nishinoya, throwing himself forward with the raw athleticism of a beast, and Kageyama feels again the faintly dizzying wonder at how so much power is packed into that tiny body. It’s a flitting feeling that fades quickly, and his attention is wrested by how both Hinata and Nishinoya have been bested by the slippery plumping pipes that are the path up.

“ _Track him from the ground!_ ” Kageyama doesn’t wait to see if they hear him -he catches up and then he’s sprinting past, eyes craning to the rooftops to track the thief. In Spite this would be unviable, with the ever-expanding metropolis spiderwebbing across the abyss of a sky -there’s a city over the city in Spite -but this is the slummy outskirts of Watchmaker’s and the roofs are low, chimneys visible from the street. The figure of the thief bobs out of view. Kageyama turns a sharp right and bursts into the building he’s flanking.

 _Oi, what cher’ doin - Watch it!! -_ a girlish scream, a family cluttered into too small a space - he throws himself out of a window, lifts the mangy curtains and finds the windowpane already broken - and in the street on the other side, sees with a satisfied pang the thief’s silhouette reappearing. This street is narrower, wide enough only for one person to pass comfortably. The one-storey buildings almost bump facades, and sometimes rooftops overlap when one is visibly patched up to wrong dimensions.

The thief slows to a stumble occasionally, but when he moves back into a run he’s fast. Looks like a thuggish male, broad-shouldered and tall, though he flees with the panic of a first-time thief. The analysis doesn’t allow Kageyama to guess conclusively how easy this chase will be. It doesn’t matter. He’ll just have to push himself harder if the thief is better than expected -

-correction, he will _work together_ harder. Whatever the hell that means. (He’s trying.)

Down the street, around a turn, and he moves discreetly closer as the thief makes to jump across from one close-leaning parapet to the other. Faintly there’s the cry - _stop!_ -and calling out is generally a bad idea, except in this case it seems to make the thief lose his cool. Kageyama turns, expecting to see the seniors in hot pursuit, but there’s only the lone figure of Yamaguchi weaving through the squat chimneys.

“Stop! Ace-senpai!!” Yamaguchi repeats. The seniors are ominous footfalls coming up on both sides of the building. Kageyama can see Tanaka jogging up behind him.

The thief warbles something that sounds like “ _sorry_ ” and “ _d’ya want your noodles back, have the goddamn noodles_ ”, and Kageyama watches his head turn from the shadowed streets. They have a voice- if Tanaka is still advancing, it must be the real deal. Is the Ace going to keep going down this street, or try to cross to another chain of rooftops?

He sees the Ace’s head settle for a split second longer on the buildings across, the narrow street thin enough for a jump to be plausible, and quickly estimates a location to position an ambush. Kageyama’s no Spite thief- (oh, _Yamaguchi_ is supposed to be, and his lone presence on the rooftops gains new impressiveness)- but he can probably climb onto the roof of a one-storey. Once he spots a pile of solid-looking crates it becomes a definitive, even if his foot plunges through damp wood into one and comes up dirty with fungal dandruff.

Gross. But he’s crouching down on the rooftop, watching the Ace lunge off an overhang and grab onto the side of the building across. It’s impressive as Hinata is; the leap is how Kageyama imagines big cats to pounce. And the Ace makes it, hauling himself to safety with a sharp swing of his leg, and as he starts to move again this is where Kageyama stands up into view.

“Hey-”

The Ace’s expression changes into shock, into horror as Kageyama flashes his Karasuno pin. _One of you._ What is the Ace running from? Is he still part of them?

 

These questions shall have to be answered later. Now Kageyama blocks the way and braces himself for a fight.

“Trainee! Hurry u-” No, his approach from now is _cooperation_ , and he hasn’t the focus to think of a replacement phrase. The Ace processes it all in the time of a breath- probably recognizing the scenario as a confrontation by someone else’s Chandler, as familiar territory -and Kageyama can only hope Yamaguchi figures out enough to get here and assist in time. Ah, the Ace is charging.

Kageyama knows in theory the weight of this. He’s spent nights poring over such theories, piecing his own from the discarded plan-fragments Oikawa-san didn’t manage to destroy when he left. The Ace, his approaching footsteps steam-train solid, is a team’s strongest offence (and between _‘Ace’:_ and everything else about the Ace had been _[Iwa-chan]_ embedded irrevocably into the text), the best challenge Kageyama could possibly go up against as an inexperienced Chandler-

-this is the _real thing_ -

-take him down, or keep him occupied for long enough for the others to geFUCK

 

Ouch- fuc-

 

k-

 

 

 

It happens so fast it feels like vertigo. Movement, one attempt to destabilize the Ace, and then another when the first fails, a third, sliding the weight against him into something that suddenly-

 

gives-

 

The Ace is yelling, somewhere below him. Getting farther. The calloused grip on his hand slides downwards and releases, as he feels himself falling, and Kageyama sees the twinkle of the Neath’s false-stars above him.

 _OW_ as his head hits the hard roof and ( _THUD_ ) as the Ace hits… something else. Farther down. Several points on his body are banging on his door with enraged complaints about unplanned damage.

When he comes around again Kageyama might have to check if he’s accidentally thrown Karasuno’s Ace off a building.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Things happened..... like getting into a new book series.... falling sick.... and the aforementioned wrist problems. But I'm still writing whenever I can! Hope you enjoyed this chapter. :3
> 
> I'll need to include a titleslist every now and then for our combined reference:
> 
> KARASUNO  
>  **Sugawara:** Sanguine Keysmith  
>  **Kiyoko:** Keen Secretariat
> 
> **Nishinoya:** ??? Yachtman  
>  **???:** Efficient Curator
> 
> **Yamaguchi** : Young Trainee  
>  **Tsukishima** : ??? Knifesman  
>  **Kageyama:** Cagey Traveler  
> 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kageyama meets his past, his seniors' past, some guy presumably from Dateko, and what looks like imminent murder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you toffeepotatoes for helping me proofread! Also I will someday fight you toffeepotatoes for writing [more fic of this verse](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6999535). The piece in question is EnnoSuga, and may explain some ennosuga undertones in this chapter (me, throwing down my gauntlet, through tears). Protip: If you write fic in this verse I will cry, then attempt to fit it into my canon probably
> 
>  **More major characters in this chapter:** Kageyama, Hinata, Ennoshita  
>  **Characters that have some speaking lines:** Yamaguchi, Nishinoya, Tanaka, Asahi

 

> _**Rats and Shrooms** _
> 
> _London is now a mile underground, after all, and sources of sustenance one would be used to on the Surface is far harder to come by down here. So the most ubiquitous staple here are rats and shroom varieties, both of which can be obtained easily within the city.  There are certainly imports of the good old meat and grains; food served in higher places go as far to look like Surface dishes sometimes, but it’s best not to ask if you can’t tell._
> 
> _Dante’s Grill serves what they claim are authentic dishes from Hell– their devilled kidney is excellent. It’s even better not to ask when it comes to Dante’s Grill. At all._

* * *

 

He had in fact thrown Karasuno’s Ace off a building.

Also, Hinata had –with the same shrieking ferocity he had every other time Kageyama threw someone off balance for him –thrown himself on Karasuno’s Ace on the man’s way down. That had been the _thud_. And those had been the screams that came afterwards. In a roundabout way it’s nice, to have Hinata unfailingly being there to back Kageyama up. But in another way, the literal way, Hinata had kneed the Amiable Antiquarian in the gut, then kicked him in the face.

The kick had been accidental. But the bruise marring the Antiquarian’s face remains, a cluster of blackening wildflowers in discoloured Neath-mud, and it’s enough for Hinata to be squealing apologies.

Also, the Amiable Antiques-Dealer’s old name is Asahi. It feels temptingly good on Kageyama’s tongue –the repeated name barely rising above a whisper even in the four walls of this lodgings –it’s especially tempting, compared to the mouthful that is _Antiquarian_. What the fuck is that kind of name.

 _Also_ , the rats they bagged from the marshes are stolen when they come back that way, along with a few sacks of shrooms.

None of the senior members reproach Hinata anymore, deciding that lavishing attentions on Asahi is preferable. Whether this is a good or bad thing for Asahi is still up for debate; the seniors are vacillating wildly between fussing over his scrapes and hitting him upside the head.

Yamaguchi had helped Kageyama here kindly, providing a shoulder for him to lean against until the street was clear both to his eyes and his mind again. From what Kageyama’d seen, disorientated against Yamaguchi’s shoulder, Nishinoya and Tanaka had grabbed Asahi’s arms and marched him like a prisoner.

(While shouting a lot. The shouting is an important detail because it had been so loud and hard to ignore. Because on the way back they’d met –)

* * *

 

Oi! Do you think you own the whole Hill, stop yelling!

_Hey, watch your damn tone-_

OI OI OI, who’re YOU _, Turnip-Head-_

 _Who the FUCK are you calling-_ EHH!!

 

(Kindai- _shit_ \- let’s just go- what are you pointing a-)

 

 _IT’S HIM!_ It’s Kageya-

 

“What,” Kageyama raised his voice, and raised a hand to his head to massage away the dull throb still there. It was Kindaichi, and Kunimi pulling his arm insistently, and the both of them going slack-jawed with recognition. The people who he had the addresses of once, who he once talked about the Neath with, over crude sketches of London streets and baseless rumors scribbled down with reverence. All they had of the fallen city.

It occurred to him that maybe he should say more, now that they were meeting again with all of the city before them, but his mind was blank. It was generally opinionless on these kinds of things.

“So you’re here,” Kindaichi started, his voice gruff with the air of someone trying hard to appear aggressive. Immediately Tanaka and Nishinoya both made threatening movements towards him, and in an instant Asahi became the one holding them back instead. (With both a restraining hand on each shoulder and nervous platitudes, but the former was doing more than the pleas to not fight.)

“The two of us are in Seijoh, basically. Don’t turn up there, okay? We don’t want you.”

Kageyama found himself staring.

 

Seijoh?

 

... yeah, Oikawa-san had told him the same thing, with a voice so acidic it’d been the first time Kageyama heard Iwaizumi yell at him. (after, out of sight.) The empty rooms and journey down here without him had told the same thing. The only thing that was news to him is their new name.

 

“Yeah.” Kageyama replied.

 

“Ha! Seijoh?” Nishinoya barked, slinging an arm around Kageyama and almost wrangling him, “ _Karasuno’s_ Traveler doesn’t _want_ to go to Seijoh anyway! Are you picking a fight with him? _Are you picking a fight with us_? We can totally-”

“Kara… what?”

Immediately Nishinoya made an attempt to fight them.

Asahi let out a yelp like a kicked dog and threw himself on Nishinoya, hauling the latter back by sheer brute force. The bruises flowering across his face and arms were decorative, effectively. Kumini was a mirror to him, only in the most abstract of senses, because Kindaichi dwarfed him and Kindaichi’s quick diffusion of anger was the main reason why he had any success restraining the man at all.

“ _We have to go–_ we have a _match_ , come on–”

The words were some kind of sobering elixir.

Nishinoya, meanwhile, was thrashing. Next to him Tanaka was rolling up his sleeves, ignoring Asahi’s attempt at a plea. Kageyama took a step forward, pushing off Yamaguchi, and ignored the twinging protest against his skull and took another. _Don’t_ , he said, in his flatline of a voice, and realized only belatedly that there was no way it would’ve carried over _Asahi stop being such a coward_ and _stop it, c’mon, we don’t need to start a fight here_ –

“We have to go,” Kindaichi repeated, drinking the syllables in to ground himself. It was enough for him to see Tanaka coming at him, for him to hurriedly duck under the punch Tanaka threw, scrambling back in a hurried retreat.

“Whoever the fuck you are, you’ll regret him for sure! The fucking King’ll wreck your group from the inside out if you let him!”

“ _Sorry_ ,” Kunimi shouted.

“We’ll fight you next time if you want–”

“ _Stop taunting them–”_

* * *

 

 

 

“ _Why didn’t you write us at all??_ Three months in the fucking Flit and you didn’t even _write_ to tell us you were _okay_ -”

 

 

The seniors are still at it.

“I _did_ ! I sent you guys a letter every week, to Shimizu’s place–” Asahi’s voice is a deeper baritone than the other two, but in distress it rises into a helpless squeak. _Ow_ , he adds as someone presses some remedy or other to a bruise.

Kageyama glances back to where the seniors are congregated. The remedy in question is a damp fabric, soaked in what he hopes is real ice. (It’s probably Neath-snow.)

“It’s… should we even be staying here?” Yamaguchi’s hands are still flecked with black from scaling unmaintained Watchmaker huts. He’s carefully resting them palms-up, in an attempt to avoid dirtying the dirty tabletop. This place looks long-uninhabited; they had to wipe a layer of dust off everything they wanted to use, sometimes using the spidersilk they’d plucked off a nearby corner. “It feels like we’re intruding on their business by being here.”

If not for the chicken-scratch sign of _RATCATCHER and_ _YATCH_ _YACHTMAN_ and the dust-covered remains of slain beasts strewn around the shack, Kageyama would’ve reckoned this place as some kind of musty no-man’s-land.

(There had even been a colony of rats throwing some party in the middle of the room before Tanaka started waving around a rat-skin bracer with threatening intent and sent them scattering.)

“Maybe after they’re done they’ll tell us more about Knife and Candle?” Hinata is peeved and sneaking sullen sideways-glances at the table. It’s only partially because they’d come to train and ended up being an unwanted audience. It’s mostly because he’d slumped on said table immediately and ended up with a smear of grey dust across his shirtfront –Kageyama thought it had already been a boon that none of those dubious stains transferred.  

With another grumble Hinata starts swaying in his seat, the grumble becoming a drawn-out whine. It rumbles in his throat like a growl, the young adult’s version of an angry tantrum. “They haven’t _dismissed_ us, so _maybe_ …”

“They don’t look like they’ll be done anytime soon, though.” Yamaguchi frowns, then wipes his hands on a scrap of spidersilk with reluctance. He’d been the only one that argued for keeping and selling the pieces. The tatters of shit they pulled off from the underside of Tanaka and Nishinoya’s ex-table are a far from being definable as an actual _napkin_ . (But maybe some poor smuck somewhere might want it, that was true.) “Antiquarian-san’s been hiding deep in Spite for _over three months_ , or something… they probably have a lot to catch up.”

Nishinoya and Tanaka are currently ‘catching up’ by shaking Asahi for ‘doing something as stupid as send letters by couriers.’ No, just Nishinoya. Come to think of it, Nishinoya had been doing most of the shouting, wrangling, et cetra. Kageyama watches Tanaka, hovering by Asahi’s side, and realizes that the man is taking a sidelines spot for once.

“Then what? Should we just go? Maybe we can go to Kiyoko-san’s–”

“Secretariat-san.” Kageyama corrects. “Work on your fucking pseudonyms.”

 

(“ _Oi, ‘Noya, maybe calm down a bit–_ ”

“ _I’m calm! I’m very calm! Asahi’s back, everything’s okay now–”_ Asahi interjects a dozen apologies in the voice of someone weeping _– “fuck, don’t do that again–”_

“ _‘Noya, you’re choking him with that hug–”_ )

 

“These complicated English words are so much harder to remember- _fuck_ !!” Hinata had tried to drape himself over the back of his chair, to results much unwanted. _Everything_ in this house is three feet under some dust empire, dumbass. “Yamaguchiiii, help me think of a name?”

Yamaguchi laughs nervously. “Y-you're not supposed to use my Surface name! But, hm, Hinata, right-”

“The huge monster you want to fight is down here where people use English pseudonyms,” Kageyama snaps.

There’s another man who’d come in earlier, who now emerges from what must be the kitchen with a steaming pot. He looks nondescript, with plain-cut black hair and an ordinarily Japanese face, which continues to be the opposite of attention-grabbing as he sidles up to the couch that Tanaka and Nishnoya have cornered Asahi on. When he sets the pot down with a ferocious _CLUNK_ that makes the side-table splinter a leg, all eyes go to the dull iron pot and the droplets of dark liquid dribbling down its side.

That pot is probably the cleanest thing in this place.

“The Keysmith will have both your heads if you kill our Ace before he gets here,” and to Asahi, “drink some.”

“What is he, sick?” Tanaka points out, at the same time Asahi points out “the table, you broke it–”

Hinata, suddenly interested in the events in that corner, looks visibly disappointed when the man doesn’t upend the pot’s contents on someone.

“He’s been living on a Flit diet for months.” The man’s level-toned words are loaded with meaning. What the meaning is, Kageyama doesn’t know –he knows the Flit is somewhere high up, and deep in Spite, but isn’t sure what sort of food you could possibly find in those dark corners. Dirt? Sewer-sludge? Surely not the bodies of other unfortunate residents. Surely not. “If you want, you can have some too. It doesn’t compare to Secretariat-san’s cooking, though, so I don’t know why you’d want to.”

“ _Badass_ ,” Hinata whispers anyway.

“I heard they only eat rats in the Flit,” Yamaguchi whispers back, wide-eyed.

“Only _rats?_ ”

“ _Only_ rats.”

Hinata and Kageyama share a look of mutual understanding. That understanding is one of pure horror.

 

 

“How’re you doing?” The plain-faced man is suddenly right at their table. “Hi. I’m the Efficient Curator.”

 

Kageyama and Yamaguchi jump in their seats. Hinata jumps, quite literally, off his.

“ _Sir!!!!!_ We met some people from Seijoh just now and they said they were going to a match and we were wondering maybe if we could go watch!!”

 

The Curator deadpans. His first response is a muttered “ _they need to spend more time around calmer influences_ ”, and then a drawn-out smile. The unhurried rearrangement of his expression is indeed the opposite of Tanaka and Nishinoya. “Seijoh, huh. I do _think_ there’s something going on today between some of the groups.”

Pause. A leisurely silence. Hinata squirms in his shoes.

“I’ll check with the Keysmith when he comes, he has a better idea of situations. If he agrees, I guess some spectating is good for you –no, we have to wait until the Keysmith comes, I need to hold the fort and make sure the Antiquarian doesn’t accidentally die or bolt.”

His pleasant eyes harden to an edge when Kageyama points out that death isn’t permanent here anyway.

“It’s not. But it’s plenty unpleasant. He’ll be here soon, okay? _Sheesh, where did all the calm people go…”_

* * *

It takes under an hour for the Keysmith to arrive. Within that time they’ve had to defend against two attempted rat infiltrations. It takes a whispered conversation at the door _–_ after which Sugawara goes straight into Asahi’s arms for a crushing hug _–_ and another whispered conversation behind the badly taxidermied spider carcass (the size of a large dog), for the Curator to decide himself satisfied and tell them where the match is.

“Wolfstack Docks,” the Curator says, fingering a slip of paper given by Sugawara with the same delicacy of when he set Sugawara’s carelessly removed coat down on the couch. Both were white, and kept white by the Curator’s fingers brushing them down endlessly. “It’s almost starting time, but games take a while; we’ll get there just in time for the good stuff. Do you all have your silver pins? Put them on.”

Yamaguchi doesn’t. Immediately he’s handed one from the Curator’s deep coat-pockets.

For a while the Curator’s fiddling is distracting, the non-stop folding and unfolding of the paper as he checks and rechecks the writing. Then Kageyama finds something else to focus on, speculation on what the game they’d researched so extensively on would look like in real life, and now the rest of the world stops being worth noticing.

The Curator points them with methodic precision through Watchmaker Hill’s haphazard streets, across the river, and all the way up to a specific warehouse rooftop on the fringes of the Docks. The air smells strongly of salt, both from the sea (the Under- Unter? Untersea? Xee? _what the fuck_ ) and the sweat of men toiling on the wharves.

The grid-pattern buildings of the Docks are spread out before them. They are the farthest thing from the unplanned chaos of Watchmaker’s Hill. Kageyama watches the Curator slip the still-unblemished paper into a pocket, and thinks of other pale things _–_ his Karasuno feather-pin, shining untarnished the moment Kiyoko pulls it from its crumbling box, _–_ and wonders if the Curator curates more than just museum artifacts.

“Tonight Seijoh’s playing against the Iron Wall. No feud, just a friendly game, if our sources are correct. Dateko does a lot of friendly games.” This time the Curator does not check his notes. “Wonder who choose such a small court. Anyway, pick a street?”

He points out three. _There_ , Hinata and Kageyama say at the same time, pointing to different streets.

“The 71st Avenue is closer!! We’d waste time travelling farther!”

“Dumbass, we’d see more action in a more central street!”

Hinata retorts, petulant as a child, “Well uh, wouldn’t the opposing team send people to sneak past at the edge of their defenses?”

Kageyama considers punching Hinata. The urge is not uncommon. The look on Hinata’s face suggests he might want to do the same. _Back the fuck down_ , Kageyama tries to say with his glare. He’s read up about this, he’s gone through books and terms he doesn’t understand and getting his ass kicked at moving pieces around a board. Okay, maybe he’s not that good, but this shrimp is definitely a lot less good.

Hinata simply glares back.

Instead, they turn to the other two. This is not the first time they’ve resorted to this to resolve a stalemate (which happens about all the time. Once, they consulted the damn monkey under his bed.) Yamaguchi puts his hands up, not taking a side. The Curator, unwaveringly placid, shrugs.

“I don’t deal in strategies, I’m no Chandler.” (But Kageyama is a Chandler. Eventually. He’s willing to work for it.) “But… we’re just here to spectate, so I think we should stay on the edges.”

 

The violent light blazing from a multitude of windows paints squares of yellow onto the street. Yamaguchi makes conversation with the Curator as they walk, but Kageyama’s mind is elsewhere; this will be his first taste of Knife and Candle, and he feels his body thrumming in anticipation. He imagines it to be infinitely more satisfying than the Surface proxy that is Fighting For Your Life When People Get Pissed Off At You, which is a primal and desperate affair. He imagines a lot, playing out scenes of how it might be, breathing in deep and committing the arid salt-smell to memory.

He leads the group with Hinata, falling back only occasionally when the Curator takes a different turn than expected. They both pace as far as they can ahead _–_ taking in everything, eagerly commit all the sights to memory _–_ and get shoved a few times when they forget to give the dock-workers a berth. The workers and their judgemental looks are practically nonexistent. Who knows when they might burst in on the game? Why is the Curator so relaxed?

“ _We’re going to see a Knife and Candle match!_ !” Hinata whispers, his eyes burning gold as a pub’s torchlight falls on his face. Kageyama nods back at him, unable to find words, the both of them pulled tight like taut bowstrings. _It’s going to happen. Any minute now_.

There’s a figure up ahead, in a dark section of the street. They’re alone, and not visibly carrying any crate or load _–_ it doesn’t look like a dock-worker.

“You two, _get back_.” The Curator’s voice, for the first time, is urgent.

 

The figure starts towards them.

 

They’ve found the game, Kageyama thinks, and nothing else.

 

“ _You two!_ ” Suddenly the Curator is shoving past, pushing the both of them backwards. “We’re from Karasuno! We’re just spectating!”

The figure stops, two seconds away from running someone through with a slender blade. “Wh- oh. Crows? Do you know we’ve got a match right now?” His tone is accusing as he squints through the darkness. Said darkness conceals everything about him _–_ his hair, his face _–_ leaving just the faint gleam of his weapon and a brash voice. “We do, so you should fuck off.”

“Sorry. Right. Okay.”

Hinata weasels around the barrier of the Curator’s outstretched arm. “How long has the match gone on for? We’d really like to watch and learn, is that okay? You can point us to a good spot where we won’t get in your way _–_ ”

The man twitches. “Um _–_ uh _–no_! What if you’re some Seijoh spy or if you mess things up for us?” He speaks with the urgent panic of someone captaining a boat in a storm, half-certain that their craft is about to sink. The blade is brandished. It’s uncomfortably close. In any other situation Kageyama would’ve reacted, most likely fought.

The Curator pushes him and Hinata back further. The shadowed man makes another threatening move, and they backpedal with even more enthusiasm.

“Okay, okay. Have a good match.”

Karasuno’s crows retreat respectfully, going around a corner at their first intersection to put themselves out of sight.

Hinata whines softly, disappointed with the rejection, but there’s none of the usual passion behind that protest; he would’ve backed away in every other circumstance, with or without the Curator, except maybe in the ones where he had less of a brain than right now.

Or no self-preservation instinct. Sometimes Hinata acts like he has none of that. It’s a good thing that in an actual potentially life-or-pain situation, he proves that he isn’t completely idiotic.

“We’ll just work around this line. I doubt they’ll let us any further into their end of the court.” There are no windows looking out to the street in this alley; the Curator’s back is lit up, his face a dark featureless mask. His voice floats out of the shadows in all its calm familiarity. “I think that might be Dateko. Anyway, we can work with this _–_ let’s go farther down a bit, and I’ll explain things. I bet the two who took you out earlier didn’t.”

They go farther down, farther away from their first taste of Knife and Candle.

“That was a defensive player,” the Curator starts when they’ve reached a distance to his satisfaction. He’s breathing a little easier now, pitching his voice louder than the almost-whisper he’d spoken his previous line in. “A typical strategy is to have some of your team guard the streets at your end of the playing field, to block the opponent’s advance. It’s a bit like a territory-claiming game _–_ the streets you can defend and keep your enemies out of is home territory, and a safe space to retreat to if some fight goes badly. Helps preserve your numbers, which is how you win.”

Most of that sounds unfamiliar. Kageyama realizes how much more he has to learn about this Game _–_ and it’s not a bad feeling, it’s just a matter of going ahead and learning all of it. He’d come down here bearing the gnawing feeling that he isn’t good enough quite yet. Practice will change that. That's all.

“Hm? Where the fights are?” The Curator is speaking again. Kageyama also realizes someone had asked a question he didn’t catch. “Anywhere, really. But the defensive line is one place _–_ it’s why I brought you here. When a team attacks, their first obstacle is the opponent's defense. The attackers are nicknamed the Knives _–_ the sharpest Knife is the Ace, ours is the Antiquarian you met today. The Chandler coordinates the Knives. If everyone just charged around willy-nilly most things would be down to luck.”

 

Footsteps in the distance. Too fast to be a dock-worker.

 

“I’m told that you’re acquainted with our Chandler. Fitting that a Keysmith is our key to hitting an enemy where it’ll hurt, isn’t it?”

 

A figure flashes through the blazing lights and across the intersection, bypassing their side-street completely, heading right toward where the man in shadows had been.

The Curator whips around, and goes _oh_ . They all freeze, stopped in place by the supernatural magic of anticipation, and then there is a _THUD_ and _CLANG_ and the unmistakable sounds of  a fight.

 

The spell is broken. Hinata is sprinting back to the intersection, with the desperation of someone finally within reach of something they’d been chasing their whole life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS. Sorry if I mispell yacht in this fic. I expect to. I realize I cannot spell it properly I keep messing up the letter order
> 
> HEAD'S UP: Some characters are going to die in the next chapter! Death isn't permanent in this verse so it's kind of like knocking out Pokemon but they will still be stabbed etc.! Blood will happen! Look forward to it if you like that. :3 Remind me to put up relevant warnings too I'm bad at housekeeping
> 
> KARASUNO  
>  **Sugawara:** Sanguine Keysmith  
>  **Kiyoko:** Keen Secretariat
> 
> **Nishinoya:** ??? Yachtman  
>  **Tanaka:** ??? Ratcatcher  
>  **ok yeah it's Ennoshita:** Efficient Curator
> 
> **Yamaguchi** : Young Trainee  
>  **Tsukishima** : ??? Knifesman  
>  **Kageyama:** Cagey Traveler  
> 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Karasuno first-years spectate a game of volleyball. Except there are no balls in Fallen London, only murder. It's... friendly murder?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning!! People die in this chapter! But death is temporary in this setting so I didn't think it's the kind of thing the major character death tag is looking out for. People get stabbed and throttled here but it's not particularly graphic and they get back up very fast. Before the start of the next chapter assume they're back with their crews. I hope this is enough detail to clarify things for anyone concerned!
> 
> **More major characters in this chapter:** Kageyama, Hinata, Ennoshita, Moniwa, Kyotani, Yahaba  
>  **Characters that have some speaking lines:** Yamaguchi, Koganegawa

> _**An Antiquarian?** _
> 
> _ Antiques are a recent business venture -Karasuno’s Amiable Antiquarian used to be in far more violent a profession. He unexpectedly prefers the simpler world of stallkeeping, and just as unexpected are his profits; despite his best efforts no one really believes that he isn’t peddling lucrative stashes of drugs hidden in his antiques and replicas (he really isn’t). The Antiquarian’s noteworthy facial features and particular hairstyle precede him, you see. So it’s a little deceitful, but why fight the tide? People are willing to pay. _

* * *

 

That dumbass got a head’s start. Unacceptable.

Someone squeezes from a throng of dock-workers and dashes past the intersection, forcing Hinata to stop and let them through. Strangely, the other person looks wraithlike next to the dumbass, blending into the bright lights while Hinata himself is half-ruled by shadows; as he gets closer Kageyama realizes that it’s because the man is wearing white.

At least there’s still a shadow at the man’s feet. Under the lights you’d start to doubt if the figure was human at all.

The man flattens himself against the side of a warehouse, opposite a row of windows that light up the street, the shine of his coat making his outline indistinct. He’s wielding a sword. Behind them, some of the dock-workers are complaining about their sore muscles and the late hour. Kageyama hovers a hand over Hinata’s shoulder and thinks about Sugawara’s white coat, pale and smooth in the way Neath-snow will never be, and how he’d never expect to find that pristine color here. 

In Wolfstack Docks. Carefully and purposefully employed in a game of murder. 

It is a miracle that Dateko’s guard blocks his second assailant’s ambush at all. But he does, and the steady  _ THUD _ s of his fight with one man turns into double-time. Iron Wall, indeed. 

“Fuck-  _ guys-”  _ Dateko. 

“Help’s- not coming- if we can help it-!” One of Seijoh. Unsure which.

One attacker circles around, shifting left and right while the other stands his ground and throws blows with wild abandon- like Hinata- and Karasuno inch closer, as much as they dare, and Kageyama sees in glimpses that Dateko’s guard won’t last long.

 

“ _ MAD-” _

 

_ clang _

 

_ “FUCKING-”  _

 

_ thud _

 

_ “DOG!”  _

 

_ Urk _ -!

 

By the time the first line is done Dateko’s guard is down. The attacker who’d spoken continues to lecture the other one over the body.

“ _ We were supposed to ambush him _ !”

“Ambushes don’t feel good,” the other growls as the first bends down to rifle through the dead man’s pockets. They’re both in white, standing out now that they’re half in shadows, the unforgiving illumination of the Wolfstack lights reaching out for them. But being seen by a spectating party in retrospect isn’t what matters in Knife and Candle. 

“We need to go,” the Curator breathes, fingers tightening in their coats to ground himself. “I don’t think Seijoh’s men are more forgiving than-”

The one being lectured is in a white significantly marred by splashes of blood. The one being lectured is also the one who glances back, notices them, and makes his intent known with a low rumbling growl. 

Kageyama plunges his hands into his own pockets in anticipation, and it hits him: between him and Hinata is a knife and a crowbar. Today he finds the flaking leather of the knife’s grip against his fingers; so Hinata has the crowbar. A better knife would cost dead rats in the hundreds. A sword, at least a thousand.

“W-we’re spectating!! On-only! Karasuno!!” Hinata squeaks, nonsensically, throwing empty hands up.

Seijoh’s mad-dog Knife bares daggers that look like they cost exponentially more than a thousand dead rats. Each. He has three, one hand clutching two blades that protrude in-between his knuckles like claws, and all are coated with fresh blood.

Kageyama understands instantly that this man intends to fight.

“Don’t you dare-” The other man from Seijoh.

“Later-” The Mad Dog, already halfway towards them-

“Cover me,” Kageyama says, and steps in front of Hinata to intercept the charge. A charge at close to full tilt- head on, feints unlikely- something Kageyama has handled, something he can-

But then  _ get back,  _ the Curator says behind him, the voice a world away, and the words almost don’t register if not for the  _ stab _ of panic that registers in Kageyama’s subconscious-

-alone, he won’t be able to-

-he thinks of empty dormitories, distracted, and the Mad Dog is on him.

It takes all of Kageyama’s instincts to swerve out of the way of the first slash, so fast that dodging the Mad Dog entirely is impossible. The slash failing to make contact, the rest of that Dog slams into him. Impact is as brutally teeth-rattling as Asahi’s had been, but less controlled; Asahi had pushed back against him in spots intentionally sought out as a Chandler’s weakness, and the Mad Dog seems only interested in running him down. Kageyama reaches out, latches blindly on to skin, twists and makes for the side-

-he breaks free of the Mad Dog with a burst, pulling an arm along with him as he sidesteps his opponent- there is an  _ urf _ as the Mad Dog tips wildly off balance.

Kageyama lets go,  _ get back  _ ringing a sudden alarm in the back of his head, lunging forward to put vital space between him and his opponent. Can’t take this one alone.

The Mad Dog rights himself in a second, eyes flaring.

In that second Hinata closes the distance between them, a small grubby blur with beacon-bright hair, and the Mad Dog goes down.

An answering call to  _ cover me _ . Kageyama’s surprised. The Curator groans with the sound of hands slapping cheeks. It’s the most alive he’s sounded.

Not  _ down  _ down, mind you, just onto the ground. They writhe and tussle, both very much alive. And screaming, like mad beasts.  _ Use your crowbar, _ Kageyama shouts at the same time the Curator steps up to where they are and snaps  _ stop that _ , but neither of them feel it safe to interfere while the two are in such close quarters. Hinata lets out a wounded sort of shriek to remind everyone that there are knives involved in that mess of limbs.

It occurs to Kageyama that Hinata can’t take this one alone, either.

So the moment the two separate -the Mad Dog scrambling onto his hands and knees while Hinata squirms the other way like the world’s most energetic worm - Kageyama steps in front of Hinata again, his too-small knife weighty in his palm. 

Thankfully he doesn’t need to do anything. There’s a sudden blinding white in his vision, the back of other Seijoh member up against Kageyama with the crisp spider-silk of his suit blinding-

 

Uh-?

 

After the confusing tumble of colors settles, Kageyama assumes Mad Dog’s partner hauled the guy up and tried to throw him. He hears the tottering, sees the form of the Mad Dog crumple momentarily groundwards to catch his breath.

“Sorry, sorry-” The Curator wrenches Kageyama back with no shortage of force. He blinks, white seared into his irises. The aftershocks of the Curator’s fingers are in his shoulder, the Mad Dog’s charge sting in his side. “These are new members, we didn’t mean to get involved.”

The Seijoh member glances back and chuckles sardonically. “Got saddled with the problematic ones? I feel you.” He crouches to pick up something on the ground, white coattails continuing to blind under the bright lights, “Oi,my dear Canis, you dropped this.”

Kageyama doesn’t see what Seijoh’s dear Canis dropped. Yamaguchi yelps behind him, “ _ Traveler, help, Hinata’s bleeding”- _ and Hinata is indeed bleeding, and Kageyama’s trusting the others to manage the situation when some warehouse door slams open for a foreman to investigate the racket.

“Uh- pressure, pressure on the wound- shut up, dumbass, stop moving-”

 

(“Knife and Candle,” comes the shout from white frock-coat man, over their heads.)

 

Hinata’s coat, shit brown with shirts of similarly unappealing colors underneath, is blotched with dark red. There are matching smudges on the ground. He squirms, cries out when Kageyama peels the layers of fabric back to check the wound -looks like nothing vital -and groans, “did I get him?”

 

(“Mind your own fucking business,” comes the shout from the Canis, first-name unknown, along with a possible flash of steel. )

 

“Yeah, you did.” A glance confirms that the Canis walks with a lurch, like a malfunctioning automaton; pieces of metal held together by the thinnest of threads. But still so terrifying. “You shouldn’t have done that, dumbass.”

“But you said-  _ ow!!- _ you said ‘cover me’!”

That he did. That he did. Kageyama doesn’t reply, instead digging out a napkin to stop the bleeding.

 

(“God! Get that away from- put it down, I’m going,  I’m going!” The foreman shut the door again.)

“Curator, do you have bandages? The dumbass-”

(“Ever so caustic, Canis. Let’s go- and next time you pull that I’ll pull you out. I’ll throw your token in the trash-”)

 

The Curator presses something into Kageyama’s palm; it’s cold and heavy and smooth, in a way that bandages aren’t. It’s a bottle, the glass clean and label shining, and when the Curator finally crouches next to them he gestures for Hinata to drink it.

_ F.F. GEBRANDT’S TINCTURE OF VIGOUR _

_ Cures pain, sets bones, curls hair, and wards off spiders! _

_ Directions: Take half a spoonful before and after bed until recovery. _

“It helps with injuries. The Yachtman swears by this stuff, and he can practically survive anything.” 

Kageyama imagines the Yachtman with his hair freshly curled, and decides to not do that. He decides instead to tip the bottle’s contents straight into Hinata’s mouth, since they lack a spoon.

Hinata gags on the stuff, then claws at Kageyama’s leg when the latter takes it as a signal to shake more syrup onto his lips. 

 

“I’ve never… been in an actual Knife and Candle game yet, actually. I’m not the best at…” the Curator says, suddenly, interjecting the rowdy back-and-forth between Hinata and Kageyama (only slightly diminished by the former’s wounds.) He gestures at the scene to finish his point, and it rings like an admission; tinged with embarrassment too salty to put into words. “I mean, I’ve seen a few games since I joined Karasuno, but the others usually fill out the numbers we need. We don’t fight much anyway.”

He passes more silk pieces to Kageyama, pulled from the grey treasury of his coat, and lets Kageyama fashion a shitty bandage for Hinata.

“It’s a shitty bandage,” Hinata complains. His voice is already stronger. “Too tight.”

* * *

 

It takes ten minutes before Hinata can manage some sort of a stagger again, and by that time the two in white and red have long gone. And in that time, they take care of the body Seijoh left behind.

“So you’re supposed to make sure the corpse doesn’t get damaged any more until they come back,” the Curator says, reciting his instructions with the fluency of a bible memorized. They are too vague to help, and his expression shows that he knows it. They end up dragging the body to the side of the street, letting him lie by the warehouse wall where the shadows drape over him blanket-like. The Dateko player’s guard wears a coat in dove grey, lighter than the Curator’s in color, and in the absence of Seijoh’s brightness it stands out fairly against the dark. 

Hinata cranes to see, groaning from his sprawl on the street, and Kageyama describes to him the tousled brown of the downed player’s hair, the locations of his wounds. The Curator points out an iron chain link hanging across the man’s coatfront, affixed to the fabric by jade-studded pins, and compares it with Karasuno’s silver feather. In some moment of sentimentality, he pushes the bloodied hair out of its owner’s face.

“Can we-  _ ngh _ \- keep his sword?”

Hinata is not allowed to keep the blade, whose handle turns out to be the elegantly carved head of a cane. 

Sounds of a scuffle up ahead distract him from his disappointment -both of theirs, actually, Kageyama thinks that cane-sword would’ve taken months of filling their rooms with rats to save up for-

-Hinata starts using Yamaguchi as a crutch to push himself frantically up.

“I feel fine! I could fight off anything!!”

Up ahead, someone gives a strangled scream -one quickly cut off by a series of dull blunt-force  _ THUD _ s. Hinata shrieks in surprise, jerking sideways, and Yamaguchi almost buckles under his weight. He doesn’t look like he could fight off much.

Kageyama fishes out the empty bottle of Tincture and watches the lights play across the intense blue glass; he does this while the Curator explains that the tincture is meant to help in the long run (“he’s just running off adrenaline and lies, basically.”)

_ Directions: Take half a spoonful before and after bed until recovery. _

“So… should we investigate what’s going on up ahead before leaving, or leave now?” The question is posed by Yamaguchi, who isn’t surprised at all when the Curator is the only one who answers  _ leave now _ . 

Maybe he just wanted an opening to shove Hinata and his swaying weight onto someone else. But Hinata thankfully doesn’t sag against anyone else, finding himself able to stand when Yamaguchi’s hands let go. He pauses, eyes squinting at something behind and above them; when Kageyama turns he sees a figure gesture in something like a wave before melting into the rooftop shadows. 

Above the buildings the fluorescent dock-lights fade into the moonish glow common to other parts of London; it glints off the figure’s coat, a pale shade that may just be white. For a moment, Kageyama thinks it looked like Oikawa-san.

“What are you two staring at?”

“Nothing much,” Kageyama replies as the Curator veers back to them and only sees clear air.

 

With that, they leave. The Curator is allowed to make his good decision of taking point for once, because Hinata’s injuries prevent him from dashing ahead. And Kageyama lets himself trail behind, his mind on the waving figure obscured by the weak light, wondering if it  _ was  _ -wondering if that wave was mocking him for the monkey still useless under his bed- or a promise? An ambush from behind?

“Hey,” Hinata mutters under his breath, glancing to the side to watch the light spill from warehouse windows. “That looked like someone real scary, d’ya think that was-”

“ _ We’re just spectating!”  _ the Curator shouts, lifting empty palms in a gesture of surrender. Hinata and Kageyama immediately whip around, half-expecting-

-oh. Those are just the dock’s usual workers. 

“What’re you doing?” Yamaguchi whispers harshly, struggling to look serious -but his eyes are those of someone two seconds away from bolting. Kageyama can hear the note of fear in his voice. People in a grey similar to the fabric they handled on a certain body are facing down the Curator, and in the intersection ahead there are the breaths and rough movements of more bodies. Many more bodies. Not all of them in good shape. Kageyama hears frantic footsteps, two more  _ CLANGS _ of metal meeting, and the shout of  _ HE’S GETTING AWAY!  _

Once in awhile something groans and hits the dust. Kageyama sees someone in white leap towards them -face a blur, splattered in blood- before grey surrounds them, dragging them out of the way. 

The man conversing with the Curator pauses to give a meaningful wave, and the others in grey scatter. One is noticeably limping.

“Ah, they got the Finnicky Cavalier? We suspected so. We’re doing some training, too- your greenhorns know the etiquette, right?” 

This Dateko member is far nicer than the dead one in the street with his _ fuck offs.  _ This one has more authority too, despite his shorter stature and friendly face, and as Karasuno is waved forward Kageyama sees a cluster of  _ downright intimidating _ men accept the instruction to not run them over. 

“How’re the Crows? Haven’t heard from you after we last played you -I was told there were some internal problems after…”

“Um,” the Curator replies.

None of these people are dressed as finely as the Cavalier had been- there are rough coats of the working class and sturdy boots, swatches of black or some dull color alongside the grey -but pinpricks of silver and green flash across the crowd. 

The tallest member of the Dateko Alliance grunts in greeting, then drops the person they were throttling into a sad white heap on the ground. It looks like Kunimi.

(There are other white heaps on the ground, some like piles of snow, others too red to be. )

“Karasuno’s neutral! Back to business-” The man who’d been speaking to the Curator claps his hands and turns to the others with the voice of a schoolteacher. His hair is black, a little long for its style, and tangled around his face. “Seijoh’s retreated, what should we do now? Let the junior members answer.”

(Grey heaps,too, but those blend into the dull shades of the ground as if one with the earth.)

“Did they really get Futa-” someone shouts, tall and horrified and even more palpably inexperienced than Hinata and Yamaguchi put together, and someone else whacks him into silence. Because revealing someone else’s name while strangers are right here is truly the best idea ever.

“We didn’t hear anything,” the Curator comments nonchalantly, as behind him Kageyama prods Hinata and smirks. Even Yamaguchi stifles a chuckle at this. Hinata hisses back.

“Take care of the bodies first?” Someone offers.

“Mmm, that’s a given. Have all the Seijoh casualties been gone through for tokens?” There’s a rustle of fabrics as Dateko searches the bodies again. Karasuno takes a discreet corner to observe as the discussion continues.

“Iron Knife Tokens represent the number of times you can get killed before you’re considered eliminated,” the Curator explains. “Usually it’s one per person, but if you play alone with the Watchmaker folks you can hoard a whole bunch.” He points out the round slabs, large as a fist, when they’re lifted from the pockets of the dead. Dateko’s…. leader? Guy in charge of this game? -notices them, and shares a quick word with a teammate.

“What next? What next, c’mon!”

“Check which members of the formation have gone down?”

“That’s a given with the previous step. I mean counterattack strategy- anyone?” As he speaks the black-haired man holds up one of the Iron Knife Tokens, taken from his teammate with a meaningfully bloodied club, and smiles instructively at Karasuno. The Curator pokes all his greenhorns, just as instructively.

On the Surface there’d only been rumors on what Knife and Candle players traded in to signify wins and losses, since death isn’t permanent -some said players stole the coin of their victims, others said losing players had their very souls ripped from them. The Token is dull metal, sparkling with glim studs and the inscription  _ SEIJOH  _ around the carved image of a knife -underwhelming, compared to what Kageyama’d been expecting, but somehow so  _ fitting  _ an answer at the same time. 

(He remembers a similar gleam in Seijoh’s hands taunting the Canis-  _ you dropped something- I’ll throw your Token in the trash _ -)

“Courier. You try.” Dateko’s leader suggests, and the tall incompetent who’d almost spilled someone’s name lets out a shrill bleating noise. It sounds a bit like something Hinata would say.

“Uh- uh- how about we att-”

“Attack,” Three people finish the sentence; the one who was supposed to, and Kageyama, and Hinata. The Courier flushes with relief that his sentiment is shared, and turns to his leader for affirmation. Kageyama, on the other hand, is more interested in getting one up over the likes of Hinata. 

Look, he’s way better than that dumbass. Hinata puffs out his chest, or at least tries to, lifting a pointed finger as a rebuttal to the pained pallor of his face; “I know stuff just as well as you do,” which is  _ completely untrue  _ in Kageyama’s opinion. 

Dateko’s leader presses, even as between the pressings he’s rattling off instructions and assigning the line of greys to various streets-  _ attack why, and how? That’s not enough for a Chandler _ \- (their Courier is a  _ Chandler??  _ What the fuck _ - _ ) and Hinata waves his arms, trying to piece a reason together, and raw instinct forces Kageyama to shove him back and shout something over his head. The smartest sounding thing that comes to mind-

“You attack now because uh, some of your enemies are dead? So it’ll be easier-”

“You attack now  _ because Seijoh is in disarray from your retaliation, if you gain on them before they can regroup and replan you can catch some of them off guar- _ ”

The Curator grabs them both, shakes them by the collar like one would discipline particularly naughty young animals, and declares that Karasuno had really better go now, sorry to intrude so much, oh my.

_ Take the Sixty-seventh Avenue, stagger yourselves,  _ Dateko’s leader instructs kindly, in-between speaking pleasantly to them, building up the Iron Wall with his unexpectedly gentle words.  _ We’ve seen Seijoh fond of ambushes, so be careful! “ _ Safe passage, Karasuno!”

“Thanks. Have a good game.”

_ You should meet the Tattoo Artist, pass on the new plans. I’ll take the eastern flank- watch for a flare to change formations, though I think we’ll be made to signal manually this time-! _

“Play us again sometime! Your new members look like they’d put up a good fight- they remind me of your other short member, the one on defense! We’d love to face him and your Ace again, too.”

“Uh,” the Curator says again, as he's clapped on the back as goodbye, and Kageyama strains until the last snippets of what must be Chandling become inaudible.

* * *

 

A lone Dateko Knife follows their path to the west, where they’re met with no resistance- they might have been directed here on purpose. The assumed Chandler, and even his bullshit trainee, were to Kageyama’s knowledge assigned to the east where all the important things were probably going on. Fights to analyse. Directions to give. Kageyama is disappointed.

“You know, when I signed up for this I thought there was a lot of useful things to learn from the man in charge,” the Curator says conversationally, purposefully ignoring when Hinata starts feeling his pain again. “The Daring Sailor, that’s what his current name is. I know I’m not the best at flooring someone in under a minute, and more importantly directing people in a way that they listen, and he’s great at both. But you know what the most important lesson he taught me was? It’s very meaningful. I remember his exact words.”

In the quiet perpetual-night, as they move away from the glare of the Wolfstack floodlights and back to where the streets are lit halfway to grey, the Curator finishes with a flourish:

“He said, ‘when you’re in charge of people, you will probably have to babysit them, and that sucks.’”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My bias for badassery in immaculate white formalwear is showing. But I'm the author I get to do what I want!!! 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> KARASUNO  
>  **Daichi:** Daring Sailor  
>  **Sugawara:** Sanguine Keysmith  
>  **Kiyoko:** Keen Secretariat  
>   
>  **Nishinoya:** ??? Yachtman  
>  **Tanaka:** ??? Ratcatcher  
>  **???:** Efficient Curator  
>   
>  **Yamaguchi** : Young Trainee  
>  **Tsukishima** : ??? Knifesman  
>  **Kageyama:** Cagey Traveler  
>   
>  SEIJOH  
>  **Kyotani:** Caustic Canis  
>   
>   
>  DATEKO  
>  **Futakuchi:** Finnicky Cavalier
> 
> **Koganegawa:** ??? Courier


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They call Tsukki tactless, but Yamaguchi thinks he's pissing other people off with purpose and tactical intent. People like the thief in his room. And Kageyama.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter (actually uh most of my chapters.....) has not been beta-read, so let me know if you spot any errors :p Thank you as usual for reading! Even though I update so slowly orz
> 
>  **More major characters in this chapter:** Yamaguchi, Tsukishima, Kageyama, Sugawara, ???  
>  **Characters that have some speaking lines:** Tanaka

> _**Echoes** _
> 
> _ Echoes are the currency of the Bazaar: a hundred pennies makes one Echo. Bringing some to the Bazaar is your most reliable bet at obtaining your pick of weapons, clothes, et cetera.  _
> 
> _ But they’re not the only kind of currency down here. To be specific, anything can be a kind of currency if one finds the right buyer. Some are more common than others- jade, false gold, faux-pearls, secrets. Some have more uses than others- there is a trend recently in London high society to have one’s likeness carved in jade. The bigger the piece of jade, the better. _

* * *

 

There’s a note pinned on Tsukki’s door for him.  _ I’ll be at the Secretariat & Keysmith’s,  _ it says,  _ find me there if you need me.  _

Yamaguchi wonders if this is because Tsukki’s decided to involve himself with more enthusiasm in Karasuno affairs -the idea is very satisfying, warm like the rare kind of well-cooked broth -but when he pushes the door open to take a look, the real reason reveals itself. It’s not quite broth.

There’s a man standing in the middle of Tsukki’s room, definitively un-Tsukki, and he’s holding the crumbling halves of a broken chair in his hands. By the time he glances over, not having yet made the jump from surprise to hostility, Yamaguchi has his knife out and in position to defend himself. 

Technically, it’s Tsukki’s knife; his old one casually passed on after he’d found (or filched) a set of new ones. Yamaguchi hadn’t even known it was possible to wield more than one knife at a time until last night’s run-in with Seijoh. But back to the matter at hand. Yamaguchi puts on his most intimidating snarl, which isn’t very intimidating at all, and the man’s expression moves a little more towards being mildly concerned.

“You wouldn’t happen to know where the owner of this place is, would you?”

“W-who are you? And don’t even think about stealing- stealing my friend’s things-” 

The man tilts his head quizzically, but between his narrow eyes and spiked hair he looks a good deal more intimidating than Yamaguchi can ever hope to be. Then he cracks a smirk, a languidly smug one that reminds Yamaguchi of Spite’s cats and their networks of secrets, and lets the chair fall from his hands as he spreads his arms wide.

“Easy, duckling. Nothing in this place is worth stealing anyway, your friend’s been doing a little redecoration.”

Yamaguchi looks around, and finds the entire room’s worth of furniture replaced with cheap shitty replacements. Half the things are made with plaster, shedding grey onto the floorboards like pastry crumbs. They look like products from one of the low-end furniture stores he’s seen on the streets, selling things barely in one piece for just a handful of secrets.

 

It smells, very much, of Tsukki’s taunts.

 

Yamaguchi can’t help but giggle a little. The man frowns. 

“You know something about this?”

“No! No, I just-  _ heheh _ \- it just seems like something t- the Knifesman would do.” Yamaguchi composes himself and faces the man again, probably a thief Tsukki’d got on the bad side of, trying not to smile too much. “I think he knew you were coming to steal his things.”

For some reason, the thief’s face has the emotion of one unexpectedly eating a lemon whole. When Yamaguchi finishes he frowns even more, placing hands on his hips. Now he looks like someone rammed another lemon into his mouth mid-chew.

“Hey now.  _ Steal _ is such a harsh word. I’d like to think of it as a friendly game between new contracts.”

“You were going to take his stuff!” Yamaguchi glances around the room, entirely relieved of anything remotely valuable. “How much? All his stuff, or was the Knifesman just making a point?”

_ Knifesman _ , the thief mutters darkly, followed by something that sounds suspiciously like  _ that fucker _ .

“Yeah, well.” Vague flourishy gesture. “Having all your furniture  _ relieved  _ isn’t anything you can’t recover from. I wasn’t even going to go for his  _ good _ stuff. It’s all harmless fun! He landed my heist partner in jail, so he’s obliged to help me kill time until my mate busts out.”

“What?”

The thief has pulled out a knife of his own, and is now making a slow circle around Tsukki’s lodgings. Both of them have modest rooms at best- Tsukki’s rooms above a bookshop contain just a living area and a small kitchen in another room. A now-shitty bed is tucked against the wall where a cupboard has been replaced by a shitty rack; the closest approximation of a bedroom one could get with their humble budget.  _ What _ , the thief echoes back, beginning to carve words into the splinter-filled surface of a table.

“He doesn’t need any of this, right?”

_ LOSER,  _ reads the graffiti on the table. 

“H-hey!” Yamaguchi protests.

“What? He doesn’t use this, does he? Fuck no, he doesn’t. I’ve been here before, he owns actual furniture.” The thief moves on to the shelves; one on them comes off from its supports into his hand. “There’s nothing much here, so I’ll just wrap up and move on. Pass my greetings to your friend, mmhm? Pass this.”

The thief gives Yamaguchi the middle finger. Empathically.

Yamaguchi isn’t sure if he should feel offended. He’s not sure how to feel about this whole thing, to be honest.

Maybe he should. Leave. Tsukki already gave his real location, likely taped where the thief didn’t intend to break in from. There’s no further reason to stay and watch this guy deface a room full of useless furniture; Yamaguchi knows Tsukki has no need for any of the things that’re being graffiti’d. He’s known Tsukki long enough. 

But because he’s known Tsukki for that long, there is also the debatable urge to make the thief eat his derisive words.

“Hup, okay. Pleasure to meet your acquaintance, kid. I’ll be moving along- you wouldn’t happen to know where the Knifesman is now, would you?” Pausing at the windowsill, the thief smiles catlike. Yamaguchi tries not to think about how close the other side of the door is.

The thief looks at Yamaguchi’s face, then says with a twitch of his lips  _ you fucked up there, duckling. _ “I guess you’re not telling even if you did. You look like you do.”

Yamauchi scrambles to school his face.

“How about his full name?”

“Just- just go on with your leaving, please!”

“C’mon. A favour for a friendly Thespian?”

The man’s squatting on the sill now, perched comfortably. Yamaguchi tries waving his knife to get the man to keep leaving- he gets amused laughter in response. 

“What Thespian? You’re a  _ thief! _ ”

“Eeehhh. Don’t use such awful words for things. I only  _ convince _ people  _ very nicely  _ to part with their things.”

“A conman on top of a thief??”

“You little rat. Okay, I’m leaving- your kniferat friend told me he was the Terrific Kentrosaurus, the fucker, you tell him we have a new score to settle!”

He hefts himself up and out of view. But Yamaguchi doesn’t see- he’s too busy laughing at ‘Kentrosaurus’.

* * *

 

In truth they call Tsukki tactless, a Tactless Knifesman, but Yamaguchi thinks Tsukki has a lot of tact! He conveniently feels like touring two streets adjacent from where Yamaguchi needs to be threatening or stealing important information out of people, and when Yamaguchi calls at the Keysmith & Secretariat’s Tsukki has The Official Handbook For Knife And Candle in his hands. 

“The bugger was here all along, he ditched us yesterday and came  _ here!  _ That little-!” Tanaka-san complains before he leaves Yamaguchi in the second-floor drawing room.

Tsukki does have tact! When it comes to tactics, his mind is very sharp. Yamaguchi has no doubt he planned for the thief in his room to visit- the sour reaction is exactly the kind of thing that makes him smile. Tsukki just doesn’t use his tact with most people, and people are the one giving names before the time one is adept enough to make their own.

There are gas lamps in the room, but also more than enough foxfire candles to tinge everything an eerie green. Tsukki’s hair looks the color of jade in this light.

“This thing is written by a drunkard,” he grumbles as Yamaguchi walks up to his armchair, closing the book with a force that suggests he wants to do something more violent to it. 

“Really?”

“Yes. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, given the type of people this game attracts.” Tsukki sets the book on the arm of his seat; on its hardbound cover is an amateur’s illustration of one man stabbing another. As he picks up another book- a sheaf of notes, rather- Yamaguchi browses through the handbook and finds a blurry map annotated in chickenscratch handwriting. The first header underneath has a significant number of spelling errors.

 

_ HACTH SOEM PLANS WITIN PLANS _

_ when yu win wit plans it gets hardur to win wit plans but when yu lose at plans it gets easyer. becase the other guy think yur plans ar bad or if yu change the plan yu plan yu can surpris dem. but when yu win wit plans tey know yur plans so it gets hardur to win so yu must play a long game if yu play with plans. _

_ be carful if yu argree that plans ar ratshit becase many peepul use plans so know that peepul use plans and dunt let yuself be surpris d. _

 

“Even the Harebrained Shortie could do better, probably.” Tsukki says. “Thank god Kiyoko and Sugawara made proper notes. How was yesterday’s  _ training? _ ”

Tsukki says  _ training  _ in the inflection that conjured the image of meaningful quotation marks.

“It actually helped a lot! We found Karasuno’s Ace- they were missing him for a while- and then we spectated a real game! It was really cool, Seijoh were in white and then Datekou beat them up like  _ bam, bam!! _ ”

Yamaguchi goes on for a while, recreating the scenes of before with dramatic gestures and sound effects aplenty. Hinata got  _ stabbed _ , but they gave him some tincture thing and he seemed fine after that. Datekou were very nice, the leader even showed them an Iron Knife Token, that’s what you use to-

“I heard about the tokens,” Tsukki says. “Funny you say Datekou’s nice. From what I’ve heard it sounds like they were the ones who cost the crows their Ace.”

“What?”

Tsukki shrugs. “I don’t know everything. Kiyoko just mentioned we had history after the news about the Ace came yesterday. What’s he like?”

“The Ace? Uhh…” Yamaguchi thinks of Tanaka-san and Nishinoya-san dogpiling the Amiable Antique-something on a rat-infested couch; the latter providing a steady stream of morose whines to complement the sagging leather and scattering rats. “Uh,” he repeats, trying to put that into words.

Tsukki apparently comes to his own conclusions, one that appears to amuse and disappoint him in equal parts. He returns to shuffling through Sugawara-san and Kiyoko-san’s papers. “Nevermind, I’ll find out if I see him.”

“Oh- one more thing, there was a thief in your apartment earlier!! He vandalized your things because he couldn’t find anything to steal!”

This earns one of Tsukki’s rare laughs, the genuine kind out of personal enjoyment. Not the kind where he goes ‘heh’ and makes it mean ‘look, you loser’. He crinkles his eyes and puts his notes down, chin tilted to the ceiling, and Yamaguchi remembers unbidden the image of the thief’s lemon-eating face- and has to laugh as well.

“He said you told him you were the Terrific Kent- Kentosor-”

“I did,” Tsukki says, and takes off his glasses to wipe at his eyes. “You know the night you went to the Ginger-haired Painter’s? I tipped the Constables about his week’s itinerary.”

“O-oh- sorry -”

“Don’t apologize. The guy’s more annoying than a real threat, anyway. Even entertaining, sometimes.” Tsukki has one of his smirks on now, chuckling to himself. “Speaking of you, have you hit a dead end yet?”

“What?”

“The investigation you took up.”

 

Akiteru-san. 

About Akiteru-san…

 

“It’s… definitely hard, but there’s still a trail I can follow. The petals people found next to Akiteru-san, they’re from a rare and dangerous flower native to down here. A crossbreed of a Neath rose and a flower from Hell, apparently… so whoever’s behind this is probably down here like we thought!’

Tsukki is silent, mulling over the words. His features are in the usual arrangement of dispassionate blankness. 

“A Mumbling Beekeeper down at Watchmaker’s Hill knew about them. He mentioned a locksmith called Mackay, in Veilgarden, so I’m looking there next.” 

It feels a little underwhelming recounting his pursuits- the giddy triumphs of each success seem more inconsequential now, what felt like giant leaps reduced to baby steps. But at least he’s made progress, Yamaguchi tells himself as the green-lit room seems to dwarf him suddenly, at least he now knows about the flower the strange petals came from. Knows a bit more about the mechanism that ended a life.

“I’ll ask around too,” Tsukki finally says, pensively. 

“Thanks, Tsukki!”

“Feeling confident about Veilgarden?’

That’s Yamaguchi’s cue to ask for help if he needs it. Or moral support. But he’s feeling pretty good about this, and about being independent and capable, so he starts to say no. Before he does the ring of the doorbell resounds through the house.

“Kage-chan!!” Tanaka-san shouts from the floor beneath them. Tsukki and Yamaguchi reach the top of the stairs in time to see Kageyama get jostled around enthusiastically. He’s got a bag, of something, and when it brushes Tanaka-san’s knee the man jumps back and asks about it. Their conversation is out of earshot, but Yamaguchi can guess as he patters down the cold steps that Tanaka-san has been given confusing answers. Kageyama’s face is scrunched up, defensively.

“-Sugawara’s busy,” Tanaka-san is saying, as Yamaguchi greets them with a wave. Kageyama nods back, bursque. “-hey, kid- yeah, he’s meeting a client now, tough luck.”

“I can wait,” Kageyama says, an audible attempt at sounding earnestly accommodating in his voice. He looks confused at how to handle his emotional expressions. That look is on his face a lot.

Tsukki, lounging against the railing of the stairs, calls out: “those aren’t rats in your bag, are they?”

“No, what the fuck!”

“Given your job, I wanted to check just in case.”

 

Sugawara-san is done in half an hour, seeing a Distraught Marchioness to the door with perfectly polished courtesy. The Marchioness glances once at Kageyama in his shabby clothes -a typical labourer’s kind of coarse clothing commonly seen on Watchmaker’s Hill - but Sugawara smiles and steals her attention with a comment about a soiree, and she forgets to glance twice. When Sugawara-san comes back from the door all the sophistication has drained clear from his face. 

He mutters something about work and high society as he claws at the top button of his immaculate collar. Tanaka-san laughs at him.

Kageyama, struggling with his bag from one of the sitting room chairs, ( _ there is a monkey in there- _ ) clears his throat awkwardly. “Uh, Sugawara-san, could you find something out for me-”

Tanaka-san laughs more. “There ya go! Work that isn’t from your old circles!”

“If it’s about finding a missing relative or stalking Hinata’s activities, I’m afraid I’m going to have to turn you down,” Sugawara-san replies wryly, and Tanaka-san’s laughter escalates to the point where he has to sit down. 

Kageyama stutters protest, thoroughly bemused. “Uh, no, uh actually-” -that’s when the  _ monkey  _ (????) gives a screech from its bag, and Sugawara is suddenly paying a lot more attention. Kageyama places both hands on the burlap in a vicious attempt to wrangle its contents into staying still. “Uh, y’see, I’m looking for information about something and this monkey is supposed to be a lead-”

Beside Yamaguchi Tsukki snorts audibly, purposefully so, and Kageyama cranes his neck to glare. This scene is interesting enough to steal his attention from the reading material he’s brought down: manuals detailing not-very-overhanded combat tricks, a leaflet advertising knives (he doesn’t think he has enough knives again?) The papers, in bound books and loose leaves, are blanketed over Tsukki’s thighs like a layer of snow under guttering gaslight.

But the affair of the monkey apparently isn’t a laughing matter, because Sugawara-san’s tired pout vanishes clean off his face and he’s suddenly very serious.

“Cardsnap?” He says, with the tone of a question. 

Tsukki stops laughing. The monkey scratches Kageyama through the bag and manages to wiggle its head out.

“Cardsnap!” Sugawara-san repeats, now with the familiarity of addressing an old friend. There is answering shriek from the monkey, which makes Tanaka-san accuse it of being a runaway from the circus at the edge of town. “I get it now. You’re looking to play the Marvelous, aren’t you?”

There are lost gazes aplenty. Kageyama nods, his jaw still slack. 

“What?” Tanaka-san.

“The Marvelous is a card game that promises the prize of your heart’s desire,” Sugawara explains. He strides across the room, his actions suddenly brisk with purpose; his voice grows echoey with distance as he disappears down a corridor. Kageyama has to fill in the gap-

“It’s the one I told you I was going to play last time? Your soul for whatever you want. It’s supposedly real dark stuff, info’s hard to find, I only got this damn monkey- it  _ maybe  _ wants me to go to Watchmaker’s? I have no idea what I’m supposed to do there, though-”

“It’s been weeks since then, and all the progress you got is a monkey?” Tsukki’s question is sticky-sweet in the way that makes its recipient fume. Kageyama is about to get out of his chair when Sugawara-san returns, in his hands a bowl of honey-drizzled fungus. Cardsnap the monkey vaults off Kageyama’s lap and drags its burlap prison with it along the floor.

“Cardsnap’s a player,” Sugawara-san explains as he bends to hand his bowl to the monkey, releasing it from the sack with his free hand.“Of the Marvelous. He’s very good at cards. So, Kageyama, what information do you need? I’ll see if I can help.”

That monkey can play the magic soul-betting card game? 

Yamaguchi watches it take the bowl, thin arms wrapping around the porcelain greedily, and caper off across the polished floor. Then he catches Sugawara-san’s eye, sees the pale-haired man smiling right at him in seniorly benevolence, and that’s when Yamaguchi realizes he’d spoken his thoughts aloud. 

“That’s how things go in Fallen London, Yamaguchi- Tanaka, don’t look so surprised, what about you and the horse-sized rat?”

“What?”

_ What? _

“From we first met? You kept complaining about having to kill the horse-sized rat in some sewer-”

“OH!  _ That _ fucker-”

 

Maybe Akiteru-san was killed by one of the countless beasts from down here? Maybe the flower with those petals is the size of a house and eats people.

 

Tsukki frowns and asks that it didn’t happen to be in  _ Watchmaker’s _ , did it. Sugawara-san and Tanaka-san can’t remember for sure. As he tidies up the material on his seat into a single pile (no more reading for the hour, it seems) Tsukki glances over to Yamaguchi, his perplexed frown saying  _ everything awful seems to come from Watchmaker’s _ , and Yamaguchi can only shrug.

“Since the monkey wants you to go to Watchmakers, maybe it's an entrance test for prospective players.” Cardsnap turns to Tsukki when he brings it up, leering for a moment before returning to its new-gotten gains. The monkey is hunched over the bowl, under the shade of a side-table, and its face is messy with honey stains. “Fight giant spiders to prove your worth. Ten giant spiders. Or twelve. All at once, maybe.”

Hhaha. The ‘regular’ sized spiders here are already the size of cats, relied on for most of London’s cheap silk, to imagine anyone fighting giant spiders-  _ ten _ giant spiders, hoo boy-

“Kageyama’s good, but not  _ that _ good,”  Tanaka-san interjects, “kid, don’t fight a spider-council. S’not worth it.”

“Wait, so there really are ten giant-”

“You don’t have to fight spiders to play the Marvelous,” Sugawara-san sounds a touch impatient. But it’s because they’re associating spiders with Kageyama’s ambitions, not because they’re fantasizing about giant spiders… which no one thinks … is  much of a fantasy at all…

 

um…

 

He’s completely passing over the surprised lift of Tsukki’s eyebrows- ten giant spiders cohabiting somewhere is not the figment of imagination Tsukki prefers to have brought to life-

 

_ ten giant spiders- _

 

Okay, take a deep breath.

 

Yamaguchi reaches for the table to pour himself some nice hot spider-free tea. Cardsnap, now here and investigating the lace-trimmed tablecloth, hisses at him. Somewhat perhaps spider-like, maybe, (Yamaguchi has never seen or heard a giant spider), which makes him startle. 

“Can you uh, tell me what I’m supposed to do at Watchmaker’s?” In the beat of silence after his request, Kageyama adds- “uh- I can pay-?”

Sugawara-san starts laughing then, as Kageyama digs fistfuls of copper out of his pockets. 

“I’m a private detective- I can hand you the information directly, y’know? You might as well skip hunting in Watchmaker’s completely, since you’re coming to me.”

_ Oh _ , Kageyama replies. A piece of Watchmaker’s coppery coin slips between his fingers and buries itself in the carpet. Tanaka goes over to ruffle his hair, maybe endeared by his inexperienced confusion, and Kageyama drops even more of his copper pieces.

“You’re going to pay the Keysmith to do your dirty work?” Tsukki asks, casually. Yamaguchi isn’t sure if he really opposes the idea-  _ there should be a way to get things done without the dirty work, _ he’d once said before refusing to join them for training at Watchmaker’s Hill, and now he’s got papers loaned from the seniors- but it sounds like he does, and Kageyama attempts to splutter a defense. Kageyama fails and instead ends up looking uncertainly embarrassed as he gropes for his fallen coin.

“Why not? It doesn’t mean you don’t care about the work. It means you’re pretty resourceful, wouldn’t you agree?” Sugawara-san looks at Tsukki meaningfully; the latter only shrugs. Tsukki’s face remains neutral even as his hand subtly moves the books from Sugawara-san’s libraries out of view. “That’s a good trait for an aspiring Chandler. Lucky for you I’ve got some information on the Marvelous. I’ll check, and you should play some poker with Cardsnap in the meantime- Tanaka-san? Could you get the poker cards?”

“The monkey plays poker?”

Sugawara-san takes the stairs two steps at a time. “Yeah, you wanna play?” 

Cardsnap looks up at the sound of Tanaka-san opening a drawer. 

 

The monkey goes on to beat all of them in ten minutes- Sugawara-san, having returned in that time with a thin notebook, stands over the table they’re playing on and laughs again.

* * *

 

A week later, Seijoh sends an invitation to a game of Knife and Candle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> KARASUNO  
>  **Daichi:** Daring Sailor  
>  **Sugawara:** Sanguine Keysmith  
>  **Kiyoko:** Keen Secretariat  
>  **Asahi:** Amiable Antiquarian  
>   
>  **Nishinoya:** ??? Yachtman  
>  **Tanaka:** ??? Ratcatcher  
>  **???:** Efficient Curator  
>   
>  **Yamaguchi** : Young Trainee  
>  **Tsukishima** : ??? Knifesman  
>  **Kageyama:** Cagey Traveler  
>   
>  SEIJOH  
>  **Kyotani:** Caustic Canis  
>   
>   
>  DATEKO  
>  **Futakuchi:** Finnicky Cavalier
> 
> **Koganegawa:** ??? Courier


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A meeting you've been through before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah, sorry for the long delay :c uni has been kicking my butt. Also because uni has been kicking my butt, this chapter is not proofread. So sorry for the grammar, spelling etc. errors that'll probably be there....
> 
> look out for some seijoh boys in this chapter~! (i'm excited i had fun writing them oho) 
> 
> **More major characters in this chapter:** Tsukishima, Yamaguchi, Iwaizumi, Daichi? honestly this has been a wip so long i've forgotten  
>  **Characters that have some speaking lines:** Hinata, Kageyama, Sugawara, Ennoshita, Yahaba

> _**Names** _
> 
> _ Names are like the people they're attached to. Deceptively legible, until you realize there is more to them than the letters. They’re made of two parts, like most people who’ve suffered a dismemberment or beheading. They change, when people change, and old names coat the cobbles of London like the carcasses of spent mayflies. _

* * *

 

Yamaguchi is told by the unexpected presence of Kiyoko at his door- a personal delivery, which meant a message of highest importance. The note she brings, which states a meeting time in a week to negotiate details for a game, crumples in on itself with a hiss of smoke when his eyes leave the final word. Kiyoko-san reassures him that it will be a while yet to the game itself- if it happens, if Karasuno accepts- and they are not the kind to fling the inexperienced into the fray. The ashen remains of the notes fall from Yamaguchi’s sooty palms, blending into the dusty floorboards at his door; they are the same shade of Kiyoko-san’s ruffled dress as she sweeps away from his apartment and out into the grey afternoon.

The meeting-place is under the shadows of the House of Chimes: one pub of many, forgettably clamouring for the attentions of passerby. It reminds Yamaguchi of the Crow’s Nest, except its clientele are too  disparate to compare. Vagrants stream here from the slums of Spite, mingling with dock-workers treating themselves to a pint, and everything is rookery-roof stable (i.e. not at all.) The owner’s cleared the place for them, but Yamaguchi can see the half-drunk customers descending into brawls outside. There are hired thugs at the door to beat up anyone who tries to break back in.

Most of the others don’t seem to notice. There’s something tense and unspoken among the older members; they wait in their seats with the look of people rehearsing lines in their mind. Curator-san keeps glancing at Kageyama and Hinata, who eventually stop speculating audibly about the upcoming game out of sheer awkwardness. 

Tsukki has not been told details about Seijoh’s invitation either. “There’s probably some catch to it,” he muses to Yamaguchi over his wine, “and that’s what they’re all so stressed about.” 

Daichi-san and Seijoh’s negotiators arrive within minutes. Daichi-san is covered in a coat of dirt and sweat as he enters, with the mingled haste and exhaustion of someone running from one emergency to another, and downs an entire pint of cheap-vintaged wine with one swig. Sugawara-san admonishes his shabby clothing in a hushed voice, even though they are the only ones in the room.

As soon as Daichi-san gets comfortable the door opens again- the pub owner calls out greetings with nothing short of respect, bordering almost on fear- and there is little room for doubt that the trio entering the pub are Seijoh’s representatives.

For one, the two people in the rear are the two members of Seijoh who almost killed Hinata recently. 

They’re in mismatched colors, no longer ghost-pale, the evil-eyed Canis no longer lurching like a wounded marsh-wolf. But they had at least made an attempt to dress for the occasion; the man leading is in clothes threadbare from use, and very noticeably smells of fish.

No one comments. Not even Tsukki, who sputters discreetly into his wineglass at the stench but otherwise holds his tongue. The pub’s owner scurries up to offer the man wine- a better vintage than what was pitched for any of them- but is brushed off. 

“Sorry, I came as soon as I heard the news but I was out pretty far-”

“No, it’s fine, I get it-” Daichi-san replies as they shake hands, his voice warm with some kind of labourer’s cameraderie. He might be the only one who gets it. Sugawara-san’s smile grows pinched from standing so close to the both of them in their occasionally-washed clothes. 

“But I really got to apologize. Our Troubadour pulled a real bullshit move, I can’t deny that. I’ll take it up with him about it soon, came straight ‘ere from my ship-”

“We understand you're here to discuss that.” Sugawara says, his voice sweet over his flinty insinuations. And so the meeting is pushed on. “Everyone, this is Seijoh’s Invincible Hunter.”

“One of London’s most renowned monster hunters,” Daichi-san adds as the Hunter sits down opposite him. Hinata gasps audibly at that, exuding a schoolboy’s awe to not unlike the muted sparkle in Daichi-san’s eyes. 

“I’ve brought some folk to listen in, if that's okay- this the Caustic Canis, that’s the Young Successo-”

As the conversation runs on Yamaguchi begins to doubt the fishy nature of the Hunter’s stench; it’s not just fishy. There's a disconcertingly foreign undertone to it.

“-the Yobbish Swordsman, I got promoted.” Said Swordsman cuts in, gingerly. He’s the one who they saw fighting in that narrow street with Datekou. The one who’d stopped the other one from killing Hinata, and his face looks friendlier in full light.

“Bloody hell, have I been away for that long?” The Hunter groans. “Anyway, the negotiations.”

Kiyoko-san places a document on the table of important people, and the heads around that table are bent in reading. Yamaguchi has never seen that document before, he doesn't think- what he thinks now is, is the scent in the air slightly…. slimy?

What things do monster-hunters hunt?

“... invitation for a game of Knife and Candle, on the condition that the Cagey Traveler is designated as the Crows’  official Chandler,” the Hunter reads-

Kageyama?

“ _ What?!” _ Hinata, jumping up from his seat.”

“Sit down-”

“How come _ he _ gets- you remember my face too, right? What does the Great King think of  _ me _ ??”

The Hunter spreads a palm on the wood of the table. The other palm is against his face. Hinata makes for him, but halfway through the Canis makes a threatening movement and Hinata’s face goes from tragic betrayal to  _ OH, UH, RETREAT.  _

_ Canis _ , the Swordsman snaps, and the Canis swings around to glare.

_ Oi _ , Kageyama hisses, dragging Hinata back by the collar, his face taut with stress. Hinata growls something back but clearly he doesn't have the heart to bicker in the usual way he does.

The Hunter groans through his fingers.

(“Tsukki, do you have any idea what's going on?”

Tsukki’s intent eyes move from Kageyama’s tense face back to the table of important people. Yamaguchi tries to copy Tsukki’s easy action of drink-sipping, nervous and unsure of what else to do, and feels the alcohol blister on his tongue.)

Kageyama? 

It brings with it uneasy implications, ghosting close to the surface of his subconscious. Yamaguchi finds himself not entirely unsympathetic to Hinata’s angry disbelief.  _ Why single out only Kageyama? _ What about the rest of them, or him? 

(The room is stuffy with the smell of unknown zee-monster; it hangs on the air instead of fading.

Tsukki shrugs.  _ Wait and watch,  _ he gestures.)

“Yeah, squirt, I remember you.” To Daichi: “I'm really fuckin’ sorry, Karasuno. I’ll talk to Seijoh's leader-”

“That’ll be great-”

“The Troubadour won't be persuaded,” the Swordsman says, fidgeting, aware of the unfriendly eyes on him. “Or so he’s told us…”

“Yeah, and he did some dramatic laugh after, didn't he,” the Hunter says, then shouts for a pint of ‘the usual’. The Swordsman winces, looks incredibly awkward, and nods. Yamaguchi feels bad for him.

“All them high society types.” A mug hissing with cold vapour is put on the table of important people. The Hunter nods conspirationally at Daichi-san, then swings his head back to down the drink. “I can talk to him, though it’s true I can't promise I’ll talk him out of it-” He notices Daichi-san laugh in assent, but not how Daichi-san lurches immediately after from Sugawara-san’s thump on the back.

“-do you want to discuss any of the other details? The rest of it looks okay- oh, thank fuck, he's left the location open to you-”

“We’d like to, and maybe some other more general things.” Daichi, leaning forward in his seat. “And whether you can persuade the Troubadour or not, we’ll be fine with-”

The Curator clears his throat, loudly. Heads swing around.

“Karasuno is amenable to accepting your current conditions,” Sugawara-san continues. 

“Sorry, we might have to discuss that further before we can give you a final answer on your offer.” It's like watching people fall to blows, throwing retorts like punches. The Curator stares back at Sugawara-san all serious-like, like he's prepared to actually fight for his point, and Yamaguchi is torn between trying to caution him and taking cover under his table. 

Can the Curator fight? He's said he's never been in a game of Knife and Candle.

(“ _ Tsukki- _ ”

“Sshh.”)

“Curator,” Sugawara-san’s voice is like a loaded steel trap. 

“We can uh- fuck-” The Hunter miscoordindates the tipping of his mug and splatters his drink on himself. It stains his clothes a marbled shade of pearl. “-give you some-  _ fucking _ hell- time alone? I can come back later. Or send someone else to. That's swell.”

“That’ll be great,” the Curator replies, at the same time Sugawara-san goes “we'd prefer to settle things as soon as possible.” The other two from Seijoh shuffle like restless hounds- the Canis especially. The Swordsman discreetly waves over the pub owner for a drink.

“Keysmith.” The Curator says the name like a…. Yamaguchi can only think of the metaphor of a lover, whose failed stories go for a premium price in the Echo Bazaar. The kind people write bad serialized novels about. There are subtexts, probably, probably political, but he can't read them. And everyone is awkwardly with him on this. 

“Let’s all take a break.” Daichi-san suggests, though it doesn’t sound like a suggestion at all. “Keysmith, you need a break. Curator, you too- can you take the rest out first?” 

By ‘the rest’, he means the four fledgings- Tanaka-san and Nishinoya-san aren’t here, for some reason. Or Asahi-san. Or anyone else Yamaguchi hasn't seen. And now they're being excluded, too.

The Curator pauses, then stands; acquiescence. Yamaguchi can't keep down the prickle of jealousy as he gets up too, to follow.

“The Invincible Hunter and I will talk some matters, I’ll keep you posted.” The last part is said to Sugawara-san, as Daichi-san pats him on the shoulder- a  _ go, go _ kind of pat, reassuringly- with a bursque comment the Hunter dismisses the two people he brought.

“C’mon, the grownups have to talk serious stuff.”

Hinata grumbles, squirms in his seat; unwilling, keening for more info. The Curator tugs on his arm, and looks to Kageyama- who's distant, tripping over a loose floorboard as he stumbles out of his seat. 

“He's excited,” Tsukki quips dryly, slipping his pint of Morelways under his coat. Little spiders scuttle from under the disturbed floorboard, like motes of gleaming dust. 

A Rubbery Man is being beaten up outside. People beat them up a lot- it's said looking at the knobs and tentacles on their faces makes you feel horribly, irrationally, disgusted. People blame them for all sorts of things- a bad fishing haul, foul weather, the Fall itself. And now, the shutdown of the inn at the request of the Invincible Hunter.

Their warbling bugle-cries sound like catharsis, definitely, but Yamaguchi still feels bad for them when it happens.

The Curator sighs and tries to edge past the crowd. Yamaguchi finds himself blocked by flailing limbs- something slams into his cheek with the force of a punch. His eyes are watering, suddenly. 

“Stop it,” he finds himself mumbling, and when nothing responds, louder: “Stop beating him up!”

“Yer got a problem with that-”, someone responds, grabbing Yamaguchi by the shirt.

The Curator shoots the guy.

The Curator shoots a few more things, the  _ BANG BANG _ of his gun bludgeoning on Yamaguchi’s ears. Yamaguchi manages to get out his knife, the chaos whirling around him, and waves it clumsily at anything that looks to be coming close.

The gunshots manage to break up the crowd. He sees Kageyama kick a burly zailor away-

sees the zailor run instead of retaliate-

_ BANG- _

Cobble comes into  view like fungal blooms among the dispersing crowd.

“Let's go! Stab anyone who blocks you,” the Curator shouts. The atmosphere is thick with adrenaline, and it makes Yamaguchi heady- 

He tries. To stab someone, he means. He pushes his knife against whoever’s in front of him, trying not to sink too deep. The knife is not a slicing kind of knife and only tears fabric when the figure moves away. Oops. 

_ Phweeeeep  _ go Constable whistles. The street is clearing rapidly now. Yamaguchi can't see the Rubbery Man still, among the confusion of legs and his own running- he needs his attention to follow the Curator, who's sprinting for the cover of the side-streets-

- _ oof- _

_ - _ someone grabs him, drags him sideways. 

“Who’s-”

A hand is clamped over his mouth. “Sssh,” Tsukki says, and swings Yamaguchi around to face the dirty glass of a store display. 

In the glass Yamaguchi sees the reflection of the Curator running headlong into two Constables.

“Not the most subtle, are they?” Tsukki laughs at the glass, and pretends to point something out in the display. Yamaguchi finds himself breathing hard, eyes moving from the reflected Constables to cobalt-painted tentacles behind the glass. The figure of a Zee-monster. Despite everything, the ludicrousness of this is kind of funny- a Constable passes right behind them, so close Yamaguchi can see the shine of the man’s buttons reflected, without a twitch.

“Good work, Officer,” Tsukki says, as if he'd been lawfully paying taxes since the day he was born. Yamaguchi can't help it- he snorts. 

The Constable pauses.

Ah, shit-

“The streets are dangerous these days, be careful.” 

And they’re left alone, as if completely unassociated to the hooligans being rounded up a few meters away.

The rest of their group is part of ‘those hooligans’. Tsukki leans over and pretends to share laughter over something funny in the window- _ oh, look at that weird squid head _ \- when they're actually snickering over Hinata getting punched repeatedly as the Constables try to convince him to calm down.

Then, the Curator says something. Constable heads turn, and on the glass Yamaguchi watches a short exchange go by. The Curator says more things without being met with retaliation, and it’s evident people are listening.

“Persuasion works miracles.” Tsukki says. “I didn't peg that guy as a sneaker.” 

And then, “was that tentacled figurine red before?”

“....maybe it's the lighting.” The lighting is really bad down here.

Kageyama calls them assholes as they start to quietly leave. Abandoning the others is kind of an asshole move, come to think of it, but Tsukki hisses  _ don't look back, we'll mess up the story they've got-  _ and when they pass into earshot the Curator is convincing the entire patrol that they had been attacked by a large, invisible sea monster, causing the panic. 

Yamaguchi keeps quiet. 

People seem to be buying it.

“Where were you?”

“Preparing materials.” There is the loud crinkling of unwrapping paper as Tsukki takes out- what seems to be-

Ah, the distinctly pungent aroma of salted fish. Okay.

“Lay this out on that crate for me,” Tsukki says, and pushes more paper into Yamaguchi's hands. It's a page from the uh. Unexpurgated Gazette, the header reads, though Yamaguchi is sure he won't be able to say that name aloud.

It goes on the damp wood of a storage crate. Tsukki asks politely if he'd like some fish.

“Uh, not really,” Yamaguchi replies.

“Quite an interesting setup you've got there,” someone else says. 

It's a brown tabbycat, sitting neatly on the newspaper. Quite squarely in the center of it. Tsukki stares past Yamaguchi, at it, his eyes dark with triumph. Then he casually lifts the salted fish and snaps off a piece to chew on.

_ Oh. _

“Very interesting.” The cat repeats.

“Are you interested?” 

The salted fish crunches in Tsukki's teeth. “Try some,” he says, and pushes the package into Yamaguchi's hands. It's oily, and smells bad, and immediately draws the cat’s attention. Yamaguchi can feel the feline eyes on him, like a presence on his soul. It explains a lot of the funny feelings he's felt in passing before.

“Let's talk business,” Tsukki says.

 

Yamaguchi knows cats deal in secrets. He's not intimately familiar with that fact, but remembers it well enough hearing Tsukki deal with the tabby. Tsukki is asking about Seijoh- where the Swordsman and Canis went, disappearing into the Neath-shadows the way they do like fish into ink, the popular rumours about the group as a whole. The cat gives no concrete answers, only promises; indications that it knows some things, or can find them out, or if it's not something they can touch altogether. Its eyes never leave Yamaguchi. They are the color of mirrors.

“Hey, what do you  think about pricing?” Tsukki says conversationally, turning to him. An invitation. He’s thankful for it, kind of. Standing around is a bit awkward, if informative.

Yamaguchi breaks off a piece, tentatively, thinking. He wants to find out more about Seijoh. That team they're fighting, little more than brilliant spectres in his mind. The mirror-eyes watch him.

“Tsukki, how common is info about Seijoh? We could ask another cat about it, right?”

“Probably. I've seen some things about them already. Not too much, though.” 

“Excuse me,” the cat is indignant.

“You said you could track the Seijoh members that just left here- can you do that?”

“My odds shrink with every moment I spend unpaid.”

Yamaguchi throws the cat the piece of fish. “Okay, you should go quickly.” 

 

With an easy stretch the cat catches the piece in its teeth.  _ Crunch crunch. _ Its figure remains still. 

“Only that much?” 

 

Tsukki stops him from tearing off a bigger chunk. “The rest on your return.” 

“Fair enough.” The cat stretches, bends into a curve. Then it straightens back into its feline shape and leaps off the crate, into a shadow. Yamaguchi doesn't hear it land. 

His fingers are smeared with grease from the fish. As he searches in his pockets for a handkerchief, Yamaguchi thinks of businesscats and what they might know about Akiteru-san. Where do cats go? Do they know tricks of Knife and Candle?

Cats are at least more accessible than libraries.

“Do you deal with cats a lot?”

“I deal with them enough.” Tsukki shrugs. “Are you thinking of trying?”

Yamaguchi waves his hand through the shadows around the crates. Their blackness is of an empty kind. 

“Maybe… yeah.”

“If you see a grey one that knows Seijoh’s Troubadour, tell it to look for me.”

“Uh- okay... why?”

Hinata shouts from a distance away,  _ found you assholes,  _ and Tsukki simply shrugs as they turn to face the stamping of feet. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed! also like there is no plot, even if the writing hints at Plot Devices. i need to think of a plot to use those devices for oops
> 
> KARASUNO  
>  **Daichi:** Daring Sailor  
>  **Sugawara:** Sanguine Keysmith  
>  **Kiyoko:** Keen Secretariat  
>  **Asahi:** Amiable Antiquarian  
>   
>  **Nishinoya:** ??? Yachtman  
>  **Tanaka:** ??? Ratcatcher  
>  **???:** Efficient Curator  
>   
>  **Yamaguchi** : Young Trainee  
>  **Tsukishima** : Tactless Knifesman  
>  **Kageyama:** Cagey Traveler  
>   
>  SEIJOH  
>  **Iwaizumi:** Invincible Hunter  
>  **Kyotani:** Caustic Canis  
>  **Yahaba:** Yobbish Swordsman  
>   
>   
>  DATEKO  
>  **Futakuchi:** Finnicky Cavalier  
>  **Koganegawa:** ??? Courier


End file.
